You Can't Cancel Quidditch!
by RedButterfly33
Summary: One-shots for the Quidditch League! 1. Daphne and Tracey have a heart to heart in the bathroom. 2. Shrieking Shack & Hogwarts. Don't ask. 3. Love. 5.Wild West!AU; Lily and Marauders. 6. Dominique is tired of being overshadowed by her sister. 10. For the Greater Good. 12. The last moments of R.A.B. 14. Luna drags Rolf on another wild hunt.
1. What are best friends for?

**Written for the Quidditch League. Go Gryffindor! **

**Task: **Slytherin x Slytherin friendship

**Prompts:**

1\. (setting) Prefects' bathroom

9\. (opening sentence) It had been a very long day.

3\. (word) mirror

* * *

**What are best friends for?**

oOo

It had been a very long day.

Daphne practically ran to the fifth floor and almost yelled the password her sister had told her at the statue of Boris the Bewildered, slamming the door behind her. She leaned back against the wooden surface, trying to fight back the tears. This was possibly the worst day of her life. For seven years, she had been sure she was doing what was right. She was a Greengrass after all; her family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It was her right to walk around like she owned the school; to treat everyone like they were inferior, because in reality, they _were_. It was alright to mock and torment and laugh at others, it was alright to stand on by and watch people get humiliated, to laugh at their misfortune, to feel like everyone owed her something simply for allowing them to breathe the same air as her. It was all alright, because she was a Greengrass and she was a Slytherin. Because she was practically royalty, because others were expected to bow to her every whim.

But today everything changed. Today she was enlisted to 'help discipline the school delinquents in detention'. Today she was finally forced to face the reality of what being a Greengrass truly meant.

A soft knock from the other side of the door brought her out of her thoughts.

"Daphne? Are you in there? Theo said he saw you storm this way, but-..."

Daphne recognized the voice and swung the door open, flinging herself forward and wrapping her arms tightly around her best friend. Tracey staggered backwards a bit, too shocked to even move.

"I can't do this anymore, Trace," Daphne sobbed in her friend's shoulder.

"Can't do what? Did something happen?"

"I... I..." she was chocking on her own tears, so Tracey gently peeled her off and led her back into the Prefect's bathroom, closing the door behind them.

The two girls sat on the smooth marble floor and Tracey rubbed her friend's back comfortingly, waiting for the sobs to die down. After a little while the crying stopped and Daphne wiped her tears away with the edge of her sleeve, drawing her knees close to her chest.

"They made me torture a first year," she said, barely above a whisper. Tracey's eyes widened in horror. "It was a little girl, short blond hair, green eyes, as big as tea plates. I tried the Cruciatus Curse on her, but it was too weak and Carrow gave me a knife... She begged me not to do it. She begged. But I did it." Daphne's voice broke and she buried her face in her knees. Her friend gave her a sympathetic look and rubbed her back more insistently.

"It wasn't your fault. The Carrows made you, it doesn't matter to them who does it, it could just as easily have been Goyle or Draco."

Daphne shook her head and tried to bite back another sob.

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. They picked me, _I_ did it. I tortured an eleven year old girl."

"It's alright, Daphne. They make everyone do it..."

"You don't get it, Tracey!" Daphne shouted suddenly. "My family is supporting Him! Every Greengrass under the sun is a Voldemort sympathizer! _Including me!_ Until a year ago, we were all talking on the train how great it would be if He came to power! How we would put those mudbloods in their place, how wizards would finally rule muggles the way we were always supposed to! _We wanted this!_ We all wanted Him to win, and now He has!"

"We didn't know He'd put those savages in charge of Hogwarts!" Tracey countered. "We didn't ask for _this_!"

"But we were eager to see Him win! We sneered at Potter and his friends, we insulted and berated mudbloods and we all couldn't wait to go and join Him! We wanted to be on His side!"

Tracey's brows knitted in both worry and concern.

"Wanted?"

Daphne stared unseeingly at the glistening bath taps. Her fingers clenched into a fist and she could almost feel the snake tattoo on her forearm move.

"I can't to this anymore, Tracey. I can't pretend I enjoy torture and pointless death. I can't pretend I believe in thinking less of someone, because they are not pureblood. I've seen blood today, and trust me when I tell you; a half-blood and a pureblood both leave the same red stains on your hands. I'm tired of this talk of Dark Arts and wizarding arrogance. In the end, everyone's blood is red. In the end, we all feel pain. I hate this person I've become. Lately I look in the mirror, and I can't even recognize myself."

"Daphne..." Tracey began slowly.

"No, Trace. I'm tired of living like this. I'm tired of going along with this madness, tired of having to watch innocents cry out in pain as I'm forced to torture them for hours on end and use those disgusting knives. I'm... I'm joining Dumbledore's Army."

Tracey stared at her friend, completely stunned. Had she lost her mind!?

"You can't mean that..."

"I do. I'm done with this. I'm done watching from the sidelines, and I'm done taking their orders."

"Listen to me," Tracey said firmly, grasping her friend's shoulder. "Joining Longbottom's little resistance won't amount to anything. With or without you, this _will_ continue. If you aren't there to maim and torture, they'll just give the job to someone else. All you'll accomplish with this is paint a giant red target on your own back! Forget the Carrows; if the Dark Lord learns of your betrayal, you'll be marked for _death_!"

Daphne stubbornly continued to stare forward. When she was younger, she imagined being a Death Eater much differently. She thought it meant she would be treated the way she deserved to be, like a queen walking among peasants. That they would hold fancy parties with the wizarding elite, that only those born with magical blood would be allowed to walk the halls of Hogwarts and breathe the same air as her. She did not think it would mean people hanging on chains from the ceiling, or having to kill and torture. She did not think she would have to stare her victims in the eyes, as she carved scars into their skin.

Her resolve strengthened like tempered steel and her nails sank painfully into the palms of her hands.

"We only have one more year!" Tracey exclaimed desperately, her fingers digging into Daphne's shoulder. "One more, and then we'll be out of here!"

"And go where, Trace?" her friend snapped angrily, finally turning to face her. "I am a Death Eater! What do you think will happen after Graduation? You think this will stop!? That we wouldn't be called upon to carry out even more horrific acts!? Don't you understand what we've committed to!?"

Tracey was stunned into silence. Daphne had known her most of her life and was sure her friend felt the same, knew she didn't have the stomach for torture either.

"We'll run away, then," Tracey whispered shakily. "We'll escape."

"We are branded," Daphne hissed angrily, pulling up her sleeve. The tattooed skull with a snake protruding from its mouth was a startling contrast to the pale skin of her forearm. "There is no place on Earth we can hide. They will hunt us down, and you know it."

"Then we'll... we'll..." Tracey was beginning to fight back tears herself. When she was so foolishly eager to join Voldemort, her mind never even once wondered what would happen if she ever decided to back out. But she knew what happened to traitors, and her heart sank heavily just thinking of what they might do to Daphne if they caught her.

"I'm joining Longbottom," Daphne said firmly. "They sneak out at night to leave those messages all over the walls. I'll meet them and ask to enlist."

"They'll never take you in! You're a Slytherin, no one will trust you!"

"They will, if I'm not alone. I'm going to break out the kids in the dungeons."

Tracey gasped and covered her mouth with one hand.

"Daphne, this is madness! You can't be serious! If they catch you, they might kill you!"

"That's better than the alternative!" Daphne snapped and looked her friend straight in the eyes. "Tracey, you may be able to stand by and let this sort of thing happen, but I am not. You've always been my best friend, and I am trusting you with my life right now. I will break them out tonight. Please do not tell anyone."

Tracey was stunned again. She wanted to make her friend understand what a colossal mistake she was about to make, wanted to make her see reason, make her see this was suicide. She just couldn't let Daphne throw her life away like that! But as she held the other girl's determined gaze, the words just seemed to die before they reached her throat. In all the years they had known each other, Tracey had never seen such cold resolve reflected in her best friend's eyes. She looked down at the floor.

"You are sure you want to go through with this then? Knowing full well what it would mean?"

"I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

Tracey took in a shaky breath.

"Alright. Then... I'll set fire to the tables in the Great Hall at half past midnight. That should provide a big enough distraction for you to sneak down there and get them out."

Daphne stared at her friend in pure astonishment.

"You mean... you want to help me?"

Tracey met her eyes again and the corners of her mouth curled up into a slight smile.

"What are best friends for?"

* * *

**A/N: Hope you liked it! Do leave a review, so I can do better next time!**


	2. Shrieking Shack & Hogwarts

**Written for the Quidditch League. Practice round, I wrote it on a dare. Please don't judge me :D  
**

**Word Count: ****1 674**

**Task: **Write about your OTP dealing with a physical illness

**Prompts:**

2\. (word) accept

11\. (narrative device) flashback.

* * *

oOo

Hogwarts' heart was breaking.

Not literally of course, as castles do not have hearts. But Hogwarts was not just any old 1000-year-old castle and the magic humming through his walls made the impossible seem at least likely. He stared in the distance at the creaking walls of the Shrieking Shack and felt his heart break a little more. Four years ago when the Shack was built, a tunnel was made between the two buildings and through it their magic connected, flowing from one into the other like a gentle current.

"You can't let him keep doing this to you," Hogwarts said softly. "He's tearing you apart."

"You don't know him like I do," came the Shack's mild response.

"I know him well enough! He sleeps in my tower and he eats in my hall. He seems quiet and stoic, but when he's with you, he's a monster."

"Don't call him that!" the Shack insisted. "He's been through so much; you can't even imagine how much he needs me! I'm his only refuge from the world!"

"And how does he repay you for that!? By hurting you? You think he does that because he loves you?"

"He doesn't know what he's doing! It's not his fault!"

"Then whose fault is it? Whose claw marks are etched into your walls? Who howls inside you and breaks all your furniture? Who gives you such a bad reputation no one even dares to approach you anymore?"

"He doesn't do it on purpose," the Shack whispered. "He just... can't help himself."

"Stop making excuses for him!" Hogwarts exploded. "He's slowly destroying you, and you know it! Just stop letting him in!"

The Shack was quiet. She could still remember the day they brought him to her. He was only a child, just turned eleven years old...

_They left the boy inside hours before the moonrise and he walked around, inspecting the Shack wearily. He only popped his head into most rooms, as the Shack turned on the lights for him every time he opened a door. From the study, he seemed to be particularly impressed and spent a few minutes perusing the bookshelves. At one point he sank so deeply into a book he was supposed to be __only __flipping through, he didn't notice it get very cold, as the sun sank and the night fell. He shivered, and the Shack lit the fire in the fireplace. He jumped and turned around, but smiled, went to sit in front of it and began reading aloud. The book he had chosen was one filled with fairytales, and for a while the Shack closed her eyes and just listened to his pleasant voice, accompanied by the subtle crackling of the fire. _

_But then it happened. _

_The book slipped from his fingers and the boy doubled over in pain. His whole body began shaking uncontrollably and he retched on her soft rug. His fingers dug into the floor and his screams shook her walls, as his bones broke and rearranged themselves. The Shack shook with sympathy, wanting so desperately to do something for this boy who had read to her, but she was just a house, and couldn't help him in any way. His agonizing cries reverberated through her again and she shook on purpose, trying to cover them with the creaking of her walls. After a few minutes, a wolf stood where the boy had been, and it was not nearly as nice. Its eyes burned with rage, as a long, high howl escaped from its throat, and before the Shack knew what was happening, sharp claws were digging into her walls. She creaked in pain but tried to hold it together, for his sake. It ran through her and smashed everything within view, from her beautiful paintings, to her exquisite 18__th__ century coffee table and her wonderful china cabinet. After raging all night and breaking most of the things inside her, the wolf turned on itself, bit and scratched its own body, as the Shack was forced to watch him in horror, and once again feel helpless. After the sun rose and the boy's body once again took its previous shape, he lay unconscious in a pool of his own blood. They came to take him away, and the Shack silently prayed that he would be all right. She didn't get her answer for a whole month, but the boy did return. He walked around, surveying the destruction he caused her last time, a deep sadness in his eyes. 'I'm so sorry...' he muttered, and if she had arms, the Shack would've hugged him and told him everything was alright. That she forgave him for what he did, and that she was sorry too, that he had to go through that. He went back to the study and found the remnants of the book he was reading, pulled out a wand and repaired it. The Shack lit the fire again, and he sat down and read. _

And the cycle would repeat every month since then. He would come and hurt her, and she would still let him in each time and endure it.

"I can't abandon him," the Shack muttered tearfully. "He needs me."

"He hurts you," Hogwarts countered.

"He doesn't mean to-..."

"And that makes it okay!? What if one day he goes a little too far and knocks down a wall? What then? Do you expect me to just sit back and accept this!? To wait for him to damage you beyond repair to do something about it?!"

"And where would he go if not here?" the Shack asked quietly.

"... If you care about him so much, he can stay with me," Hogwarts said. "I'd prefer it tenfold if he were here instead of with you."

The Shack's heart trembled at those words. Did Hogwarts truly care about her this much?

"But then it would be your walls that are scratched up and your reputation that is ruined. They would close you."

"I don't care. I can't keep watching him do this to you."

"... Why?"

There was a long pause.

"Because..."

'_I love you'_ Hogwarts wanted to say. The Shack was always so kind, so gentle, so self-sacrificial. She would endure all the pain and the humiliation that came with housing a werewolf without ever complaining about it, and it was torture having to listen to her walls creak and see the wallpaper being ripped by beastly paws through the dimly lit windows.

But she loved her werewolf. All Hogwarts would ever be for her was a dear friend. But the Shack was so good; it made _him_ want to be good, to be someone she could turn to, someone she could depend on. Even if it would never be anything more than that.

"Because I care about you. Please, let me help you," Hogwarts pleaded.

"If anyone finds out, you will be ruined. The students will be taken away, the teachers will leave... everyone will desert you. I can't allow this."

"I'm willing to risk it!"

"I'm not."

"Why?!"

"Because..."

'_I love you'_ the Shack wanted to say. Since that first moment their magic had touched, she knew it was true. He was a big, mysterious castle, full of secrets and magic, yet he always had time for her. He was there after each full moon, despite the fact the Shack kept looking worse and worse. She was damaged and rickety, and he was strong and beautiful, and she knew it was pointless, but she couldn't help but love him.

But castles don't fall inlove with shacks. Hogwarts would never return those feeling, when there were such beauties as Beauxbatons, with her elegant gardens and fountains, and her smooth marble halls... He could do much better than a creaky run-down hut.

"Because I don't want you to suffer in my place. I can handle it. Really," the Shack insisted.

Hogwarts was quiet. He didn't like this, not one bit. But if the Shack flat out refused his help, what could he do? He turned his attention inwards and searched for the werewolf within his walls. Suddenly, he heard his name being whispered in a secluded corner of the Library.

"Will this be a good idea? What if he attacks us as animals? I am so small; he can kill me in one bite!"

"Relax, will you? We'll be there, we won't let that happen."

"You turn into a bloody stag! Wolves hunt stags! We'll be in an enclosed space, how do we know he won't get hungry and try to... _eat_ you?"

"Like the man said, just relax! He can't take both of us, and I'm fairly sure wolves don't eat dogs."

"_Fairly sure?!_"

Having an idea, Hogwarts shook his shelf slightly, and a book fell from it, hitting one of the three whispering boys on the head.

"Ow! What the bloody hell...?"

The boy with the glasses picked up the book and read the title, a mischievous smirk stretching on his face.

"_**Secrets of the Forbidden Forest**_! That's it! We'll take him to the forest!"

"Isn't that extremely dangerous?"

"It's _us_, Peter. What's the worst that could happen?"

* * *

Over the next few months, the Shrieking Shack was happier than ever. The boy that came to see her now brought his friends along, and they told amusing stories and drank Butterbeer until he transformed, after which they pacified him and took him out to roam the woods. He no longer bit or clawed at her, and she loved welcoming him back after an exhausting night of adventures and cradling him in her bed until well into the afternoon.

"You seem in a good mood," Hogwarts told her one day, after the boy had left.

"Because I am!" the Shack smiled warmly. "He's doing so much better than before! True, he spends less time with me, but just seeing his smile makes me happier than I've ever been!"

"That's... great. If he... if he makes you happy, then... that is all I ever wanted," Hogwarts said quietly.


	3. Dawn

**Written for the Quidditch League****, LL Round 2****.**** This fic has been brought to you with the special beta'ing services of ****Queen of the Wallflowers****, ****WonderWitch123**** and EvilDime. Thanks for looking this over, girls!**

**As anyone who's ever been in the Gryffindor Changing Room can testify, I hate Remus\Tonks with a _burning passion_, so she does not feature anywhere in this story. My task for this round was to portray an emotion, but if you can't tell what it is just by reading, then I haven't done my job very well, have I?**

**Go Gryffindor! **

**Words: **1, 651

**Prompts:**

(word) dawn

(restriction) No dialogue

(word) skip

* * *

**Dawn**

* * *

—oOo—

O gentle vision in the dawn;  
My spirit over faint cool water glides,  
Child of the day,  
To thee;

* * *

Remus sat on the roof of his apartment building and watched the orange rays of the sun slowly color the sky. The girl leaning on his shoulder twitched in her sleep and he smiled to himself, drawing the blanket tighter around them.

The chilly March air did not bother him in the least as his gaze swept over the wide city skyline and he thought to himself that this was not such a bad idea after all. He looked down at her sleeping face and found himself losing all interest in the London architecture. Three years. They had been together for three years. Looking back at it now, he couldn't for the life of him understand why he'd resisted so much.

He glanced around at the discarded candy wrappers and cans of muggle Cola, and chuckled softly to himself, recalling the events of the night before. Most girls would rather have a romantic candle-lit dinner for their anniversary. She was content only with two bars of chocolate and fizzy drinks. Part of him adored that about her, but another part felt bad for not being able to give her anything more, and she sensed it. He was always like an open book to her. She had asked him then what was on his mind, and he had to embarrassingly admit that he couldn't afford to get her anything. And then she had given him that smile of hers that always made him feel as if he'd swallowed a whole snitch, and had told him that all she wanted was to watch the dawn with him.

He was against the rooftop idea initially, but he never could say no to her. She convinced him it wouldn't be that cold, and that he needed to start associating the night sky with more than pain and fear. They set up the blanket and lay on top of it, looking up at the stars. He had taken the compulsory Astronomy class at Hogwarts, but he and the Marauders dropped it like a hot potato as soon as they were allowed to. Being outside after dark always made him nervous. But Astronomy had always been _her_ favorite class, and listening to her soft voice explain the constellations and the history behind their names was strangely hypnotizing. At some point, her hand found his in the dark and he felt his heart skip a beat.

They stayed up almost the entire night. They talked about Hogwarts, and how great it was when their biggest problem was not being able to go to Hogsmeade together because of some detention the Marauders had landed themselves in. They recalled their first date, and his face burnt with embarrassment as she retold it from her perspective and revealed to him she knew the Marauders had been following them from a distance the whole time. When asked playfully if they were satisfied with what they had seen, he confessed that they teased him endlessly about it afterwards, and that Sirius was a bit offended that she had turned _him_ down, but accepted Remus. And then she joked about how every girl knew what it was like to be on a date with Sirius Black. According to her, it was much better to take 'the road less travelled', which just so happened to lead her to something she could never have with Sirius.

Had it really been two years since Graduation already?

Then the conversation turned to darker places and they talked about the war and how dangerous it all was. He told her he didn't want her to fight. She told him she didn't want _him_ to fight. He countered that her life was more important, that he was only a werewolf, and that no one would miss him if he were hit with a killing curse tomorrow. That many people would sigh with relief at his funeral. She silently leaned on his shoulder then, and her arms coiled around his waist, as she whispered how much she hated it when he did that. When he thought of himself as inconsequential. She listed his more impressive feats in battle and reminded him that his friends would not just forget him. They were quiet for a whole minute after that, before he barely heard her admit in a hushed voice that nothing was more important to her than his life. She didn't mind living in the slums of London, she told him. She didn't mind the crummy one-bedroom flat or the muggle drug dealers they had for neighbors, or the often stale food on their table. Because if it meant she got to kiss him goodnight at the end of every day, it was all worth it. Because _he_ was worth it.

Remus' eyes soared up to the sky again and his mind wandered to his friends. He thought of Sirius and Marlene, and their constant fights. Sirius always insisted the 'making up' was amazing, therefore it was worth it. He thought of James and Lily, and the sweeping romantic gestures he did for her. James always had somewhat of a flare for the theatrical, and nothing pleased him more than declaring to the entire world how he felt about his wife. But Remus... he never was comfortable expressing his emotions. He wasn't _that_ good at 'making up', as Sirius put it, and he sometimes forgot things like Valentine's Day and birthdays, so he was not that attentive either. He was positive any attempt at romance on his part would only end in disaster. That was why he couldn't even comprehend why anyone would choose to be with a monster like him, let alone say he was worth living in poverty and infamy.

But then again, she never reacted the way he expected her to. When he forgot their very first Valentine's Day, she only smiled and offered to help with his Ancient Runes essay. When he told her he was capable of wandless magic, she got angry because it made her feel unequal in the relationship. When he told her he was going on a very dangerous two-month long undercover mission, she helped him pack. She found very odd things about him attractive, such as the way he rolled up his sleeves, or when he sipped his morning tea, while reading the _Daily Prophet_. He wondered sometimes what a girl like her was doing with a bloke like him.

His heart fluttered in his chest as he remembered their first kiss. He had a feeling that as long as he lived, he would never forget that night in the Gryffindor common room, when the two of them were the only ones left awake and sat in front of the fireplace, just talking about their day. He could still picture it clearly, the twinkle of the fire dancing in her hazel eyes, her long hair still messy and windswept from that afternoon's Quidditch practice, and her melodic laugh echoing in his ears, just before his barriers finally collapsed and he let her shorten the distance between them. The contact left him breathless, and his heart didn't just skip, it stopped beating altogether. He did try to push her away afterwards, of course, but she was having none of it. She got him alone and confronted him about his lycanthropy, which she had already found out about on her own, and then she kissed him again, and he just couldn't believe it was happening. It had never even entered his mind she would want to be with a Dark Creature, when Adrian Fleet, one of the Gryffindor Chasers, kept asking her out almost every week. He was everything Remus wasn't - outgoing, athletic, sure of himself. And she was way too pretty to be going out with a reclusive bookworm like him, even if she was okay with his furry problem. She played Quidditch; he had trouble getting off the ground. He liked to keep to himself; she was outspoken and friendly. He tried to avoid conflict as much as he could; she always jumped right in the middle of it. He was scarred and she was perfect. About the only things they shared, were an appreciation for books, a dry sense of humor and a firm stance against Voldemort. Sirius or Fleet, or someone more like them would've made a better fit for her. And yet, for some baffling reason, she chose _him_. And he thought to himself that no matter what he did to show her how he felt about that, about _her_, it would never be enough.

Remus' gaze followed a puffy pink cloud that moved lazily across the horizon and finally saw the tip of the yellow disc starting to peek above the rooftops. He remembered she had asked him to wake her up for the sunrise, just as she had started to drift off. He wondered then why that was so important, and why couldn't they just go back down and sleep in their bed, but when he asked she only draped the blanket over their shoulders and quoted the first few lines of _Child of Dawn_, snuggling against him. He smiled and quoted the next four, finishing the verse and wrapping his arms around her. Only she could recite Harold Monro poems off the top of her head.

He looked down again and saw the gentle sunbeams caress her face and catch in her hair, and at that moment, everything else ceased to matter.

The girl stirred in his arms and he whispered her name. Her eyelids fluttered open and he brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. A smile dawned on her face, and she looked up at him, as if he were the only thing that existed in the universe. Something warm swelled inside him and spread to the tips of his fingers, as he slowly leaned in and met her lips with his.

* * *

And thou art drawn  
By kindred impulse over silver tides  
The dreamy way  
To me.

—oOo—


	4. Rita In A Jar

**Written for the Quidditch League****, LL Round 2.**

**Rita Skeeter trapped in Hermione's glass jar****, idea taken form Lizzie (TheNextFolchart)**

**Filling in for Beater 1, Gryffindor. **

**Emotion: **anger

**Word count: **944

* * *

oOo

'_That little cow!_' Rita raged from within her tiny glass prison. If only it weren't for the Unbreakable Charm on this jar, she would transform back to her beautiful self and _destroy_ that Granger girl! How _dare_ she keep her captive like this! It was inhumane! She would report this to the Ministry at the earliest convenience, have her arrested for maltreatment! Animal abuse! Cruel and unusual punishment! As soon as she found a way out of here, Rita promised herself, she would find anything she could about this arrogant girl, and she would ruin her, even if it was the last thing she ever did!

Her thoughts took her back to the day before, when she was so cleverly perched on the window of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, from where she would no doubt hear some marvelous first-hand information on the surviving school champion, when to her delight she witnessed Dumbledore having an argument with Fudge, and then sending Bill Weasley, Severus Snape and Sirius Black on errands. Voldemort, back! Sirius Black, alive! And Dumbledore knew of his location all along! This would be the scoop of the century! Once she got out of here, she would be famous! Well, _more_ famous, anyway. Having information that would lead to the capture of a well-known escaped convict that had eluded the Ministry for a whole year now would not be sold cheaply, and exposing Dumbledore's secret involvement in it was simply the icing on the cake! And she overheard a few other names too. Lupin, Figg, Fletcher, Weasley. They were all a part of this! She would have to do some research on those people, see what else she could come up with. This was going to be the biggest goldmine she'd struck since her biography on the previous Headmaster, _Armando Dippet: Master or Moron?_

But then all of that was taken away from her! Her fame, her would-be fortune, gone in a matter of seconds! Her life ruined, because some inconsequential little girl had figured out her secret and had seen her on that window! Now she was trapped in this accursed glass jar, powerless, helpless! She had to endure the humiliation and all that shaking that was making her sick, and the knowledge that the Granger girl had beaten her! Outsmarted by a fourteen-year-old! She, Rita Skeeter, who had power over nearly every single influential person in the wizarding world, was now at the mercy of a child!

Rita fumed in her jar, planning her revenge and fantasizing about getting out and bringing Granger to a hysterical outburst of tears with her quill. She knew better than anyone that the pen truly was mightier than the sword. And no one was better at unearthing dirty little secrets than Rita Skeeter. The girl had to have _something_ she didn't want the world to know about. Everyone had that one thing that they would do anything to keep private. Even boring muggle-borns. And Rita had a talent for finding out just what it was. Hermione Granger would pay for what she had done to her, she would see to it!

* * *

Over the course of the next day, Rita had a little time to calm down. '_I can talk my way out of this_,' she thought. The girl _had_ to let her out of here sooner or later. Otherwise, this would be considered kidnapping. People would ask questions, there would be an investigation, attention Granger neither wanted nor needed right at this particular moment. But there was still the problem of her knowing Rita's little animagus secret. If she hoped to avoid Azkaban, the reporter had to get creative. After all, she could be very persuasive, when she wanted to be. Maybe there was something she could offer the little tramp? Perhaps a job at the Ministry? Rita did have connections. Oh yes, something like that could easily buy her silence. Ambitious girl like that would love a chance to climb the career ladder... All she had to do was wait until she could return to human form, and then sweet talk the little brat... Yes, this would be easy...

* * *

Rita felt like she would be sick, in more ways than one. She was now being carried in Granger's bag on the Hogwarts express, and the constant swaying was giving her motion sickness. But that wasn't all. Once again, Rita's very soul burned with indignation and rage. This annoying bushy-haired know-it-all actually had the gall to talk to her last night and explain in her usual bossy tone that the only thing that would get her to shut up about Rita being an unregistered animagus would be if she stopped writing. Stopped writing! She might as well have asked her to stop breathing! What kind of self-respecting journalist would she be if she bowed her head to such a demand!? What kind of witch does the bidding of an arrogant schoolgirl!?

But... if she didn't submit, it would mean years in Azkaban. Rita shuddered just at the thought. Bile rose in her throat, and her body burned with rage at her own helplessness. How did Granger even find out? She had been so careful not to let her secret slip, how had this plain, unremarkable girl have figured it out? It was all her fault, that mousy, meddlesome teenager! A teenager, who _literally_ held her future in the palm of her hand!

Fine then! Rita would play along with her demands... for now. But one day... one day, she would get her revenge. Even if it took her years. She could wait. But one thing she knew for certain.

One day, Hermione Granger would pay.


	5. Once Upon a Time in the West

**This takes place in the American West, circa 1800-ish. I did some research on frontier medicine and doctors, and apparently is was totally okay not to get any kind of education and just apprentice a year or two under someone to obtain an M.D. Yes, seriously. I'll probably spin this into a MC story if it gets a good score, I had to cut so much! I apologize in advance if any Native Americans reading this are offended of my butchering of their culture. Maverick and Dr. Quinn references galore!**

**Word count**: 3 000 _exactly_, bitches!

**Prompts**:

4\. (word) chasing (abbreviated as 'chasin'' to fit in with the southern accent)  
5\. (quote) 'To die would be an awfully big adventure.' - J.M Barrie, Peter Pan  
12\. (word) keyhole

* * *

**Once Upon a Time in the West**

Lily loved mornings.

It was the best time of day, really. The sun was not yet high enough to make her sweat in her clothes, but it wasn't cold enough to make her shiver. The pleasant morning breeze made her red hair dance around her face, as she walked down the main street of Cokeworth, for the first time in months. She had really missed her hometown during the last two years while she was working as a medical apprentice to Doctor Michaela Quinn in Hogsmeade. Her eyes lingered fondly on the Barbershop, where Mr. Diggle, a friend of her father, worked enthusiastically on Mr. McKinnon's chin. Something to the left of the window caught her curiosity and she strayed from her way to approach the shop. A big poster with a picture of four young men in the middle, all grinning and raising a pint to the camera, was stuck to the wall of the building.

* * *

**WANTED **

**dead or alive**

**o**

**THE MARAUDERS**

**o**

For the robbery of the Hogwarts Express, horse theft, and multiple shop robberies.

**REWARD OF 10,000 EACH**

**Immediately contact nearest U.S. Marshal's office**

* * *

Lily tore her eyes away from the poster and continued down the street. Soon she came upon the apothecary and stopped to look through the window, but it was covered in a deep layer of dust. Grinning mischievously, Lily stooped and peered through the keyhole, finally spotting the man behind the counter. The little bell rang merrily as she opened the door, and when he turned to face her, the usual scowl on his face was quickly replaced by a smile.

"Lily! You're back!" he exclaimed in surprise, as she rushed over to hug him.

"I missed you, Sev! I can't believe you actually did it! Your own apothecary!"

"Yes, well, a lot of things happen in two years. So you've completed your apprenticeship then? You're finally a Doctor?"

"Yes, I am. Doctor Quinn was such a great teacher; I have so much to tell you-..."

Just then, the bell rang again, and their reunion was interrupted. Three men entered the dimly-lit apothecary and Severus' whole body stiffened. They all wore dusty traveling coats and cowboy hats, and Lily recognized them immediately. The Marauders.

The one on the left was dressed as a true gentleman, with a pressed white shirt and a waistcoat. Those, however, were not enough to distract from his face, where he bore a horrible, disfiguring scar. The man on the right was his exact opposite. He was clad in black from head to toe, and though his face was very handsome, his whole air screamed 'rebel'.

The one in the middle, whose unruly black hair stuck out in all directions from underneath the hat, approached the counter and slammed a piece of paper on it.

Severus' black eyes slid over the note, but his brows were locked in a frown.

"We don't sell to outlaws."

"Is that so?" The man grinned, and in less than a second a gun was in his hand, pointed at Severus' head. "How about now?"

Severus looked like he was forced to swallow a whole lemon. His eyes darted to Lily, then very slowly, he turned around and began collecting the herbs, drugs, and other medicine listed on the piece of paper. The black-haired man finally registered her presence as well, and gave her a flirty wink, but Lily only scowled at him.

"My, my, I don't think I've seen _you_ around here before," his darkly clad companion said, approaching her. He had shoulder-length black hair and a haughty, confident look about him, which did nothing to endear him to Lily. He reached to touch her hand, but she jerked away. "No need to be alarmed, ma'am. That's not a pistol in my pocket."

The man at the counter sniggered, while the third, who had so far remained silent, only shook his head.

"Please excuse him," said the former. "His brain cavity wouldn't make a drinkin' cup for a canary."

"That'll be 79 dollars," Severus said tersely, sliding a brown bag with the medicine across the flat surface.

"You know what, I must've left my wallet in my other pair of pants," the black haired man said, his hand already curling around the sack. "How about you put it on my tab?"

Severus' fingers clenched into a fist, but he remained silent, staring daggers into the criminal.

"How dare you!?" Lily piped up suddenly. "Do you have any idea how hard this stuff is to come by!? That morphine alone is only delivered once a month _if you're lucky_, and there happen to be people around here that are in need of it!"

The outlaws stared at her, dumbfounded. The man that had flirted with her recovered first.

"What about us? We're in need too," he said, a cocky grin on his face. "Won't you take pity on us?"

Lily glared at him furiously.

"How do you even know all that stuff? About the morphine delivery?" the messy-haired one called, taking the bag with medicine and securing it in his satchel.

"Because I happen to be a Doctor!" Lily exclaimed angrily. "And I know that if you take these drugs away, a lot of people will suffer for it!"

The men exchanged glances but said nothing and made to leave, when Lily's hand shot forward and gripped the gun on the handsome one's hip, drawing it from its holster and pointing it directly at the other one's face.

"Now, now, darlin'. Don't make me shoot you," he said, eyeing the gun.

"Put the medicine right back on the counter, and be on your way," she said evenly, her hand steady.

"Prongs," the flirt called again. "Didn't she say she was a Doctor? What good is medicine, if we don't have someone who can administer it?"

His companions shot him stunned looks.

"Padfoot, we can't just _take_ a strange woman with us," the third man finally spoke, sighing heavily.

"Not just any strange woman... a Doctor. Alright little lady, you're coming with us," Prongs said.

"You must be out of your mind, if you think I'm going anywhere with you!" Lily snapped. The man called Prongs was about to open his mouth again, but suddenly a loud whistle sounded from outside.

"We don't have time for this. Moony, tie her up."

"Stay away from her!" Severus yelled, but before he knew what was happening Prongs fired his gun and Lily felt the revolver jerk in her hand and fly off. Next thing she knew, Severus was ducking down on the floor; shattered jars raining glass on his head, and her hands were drawn behind her back and fastened with a rope.

"I'm sorry about this," Moony said in her ear and stuffed a scarf in her mouth.

The outlaws dragged her outside and made straight for the horses waiting for them, along with the fourth member of the gang. When his eyes fell on Lily, he turned questioningly towards his comrades, but Prongs just mumbled 'I'll tell you later' and Lily was forcefully slung on his stallion, as the four men mounted the horses, riding off into the horizon.

* * *

oOo

It was well into the afternoon before the men finally decided to stop for a break. Cans of beans were passed around between them, as they just sat in a circle and played a few games of poker. Lily was tied up a bit to the side, but at least they had removed the cloth from her mouth. Not that she would speak to them anyway.

"Ah, I always lose at this game," Wormtail, the fourth Marauder, muttered dejectedly.

"Ain't our fault you have a horrible game face," Prongs quipped. "Maybe if you weren't jittery as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs every time you get a bad hand, we wouldn't beat ya so often. And don't be so down! Look at Padfoot, he got rejected five times today by the same dame, and he's still grinnin' like a baked possum."

"Go dance with a rattlesnake, Prongs," Padfoot bit back, as the three men sniggered. "You hungry, Doc?" he turned to Lily. "Thirsty? We got plenty to share... for a kiss."

"Stop bein' an ass," Prongs called and threw a pebble at his head. "We didn't take her along so you can practice your sleazy pick-up lines."

"My lines are not sleazy! I'll have you know that I got a giggle and a kiss for that one in the last town," Padfoot said indignantly.

"We're awfully sorry about this, Miss," Moony addressed her politely.

"If you were really sorry, you'd untie me and take me back to Cokeworth!"

"Ah, but then we wouldn't have your beautiful face to brighten up the plains!" Prongs said. "Without your lovely presence here, all I have to look at is this bunch."

"Are you implyin' my looks are below your standards?" Padfoot said in mock-offense.

"Sorry, was I bein' too subtle?" Prongs quipped back and the two engaged in playful rough housing. Moony walked over to Lily, completely undisturbed by their behavior, and placed a tin cup of water in her hands.

"Don't mind them, Miss. They are as shy of brains as a terrapin is of feathers."

Lily observed them, slightly confused. She had imagined them as much more vulgar, cruel scoundrels, but all they did was exchange playful banter like a bunch of schoolchildren. Were those men really dangerous outlaws?

Suddenly, her musings were interrupted by the sound of horseshoes beating against the hard ground. The Marauders looked up, and in the distance they could all see a lone rider in a white hat. As the stranger approached, Prongs stood up, walking forward to greet him.

"Frank! Frank, help me!" Lily screamed, recognizing the newcomer.

Deputy Frank Longbottom threw a swift look in her direction, before dismounting quickly.

"Took ya long enough. We've been waitin' for ages," Prongs said and extended his hand. Under Lily's stupefied gaze, Frank clapped his palm on the man's forearm in a friendly handshake.

"Had to shake the Sheriff. They're gatherin' a posse to go chasin' after ya. You've really done it this time," he said.

"_Frank!_ You're working with the Marauders!?" Lily exclaimed, but the men more or less ignored her completely.

"Why's she here?"

"We kidnapped her," Padfoot said casually from where he was sitting.

"You kidnapped her. What for, to get the people even more riled up?"

"She's a Doctor," Prongs explained. Frank's eyes finally moved to Lily and his lips curled in a small smile.

"Good thinking. You're taking her to the Valley then?"

Prongs nodded.

"_Good thinking? _Frank Longbottom, you come over here and untie me right now!" Lily demanded angrily. No one paid her any mind.

"It'll be a good few days' journey, and the posse from Cokeworth will be right on your trail. I suggest you pack up and high tail it out of here as quick as you can. I'll try to hold 'em off, but I can't get ya more than a day's worth."

"That's all we ask for," Prongs grinned. "Take care, Frank."

"You too," the Deputy said, getting back on his horse. "And treat her kindly, ya hear?"

"'Course. You know I can show a lady a good time," Padfoot said with a smirk, and Frank laughed before taking off.

* * *

oOo

Ten days. Ten days of exhausting all-day rides on a different Marauder horse, then cold nights by a fire Lily refused to get too close to. She did _not_ want to associate with these criminals any more than she had to! She didn't care to hear their jokes, or listen to them singing songs around the fire and recap old adventures, or to watch Padfoot and Prongs try to out-do one another at anything and everything. She must've seen at least a dozen sharp-shooting or quick-draw competitions already, and neither of them was a consistent winner. Sometimes Moony or Wormtail would get in on those, but it was mostly the first two, who seemed to have an unquenchable thirst for showing off.

Padfoot toned down the flirting after the first few days, but Lily's quick wit and humorous comebacks sparked the attention of Prongs, who now took his friend's position in her mind as the most annoying out of the foursome. His advances had less vulgar undertones, but she couldn't say the lines themselves were any better. Saying 'I'm an outlaw, can I hide in your house?' only made sense if the woman you're trying to sweet-talk was not already taken from her home by you!

Currently she was swaying behind him on the horse, her hands looped around his waist and bound at the front so she wouldn't try to jump off again. She tried to run away at every opportunity, and had even attempted to sneak off into the night, but only made it ten paces before Moony caught her and brought her back. Lily didn't want to give into the exhaustion, but she couldn't help herself and leaned her cheek against Prongs' back.

"Tired, Doc?" he asked teasingly, throwing her a look over his shoulder. "Don't worry your pretty, red head; we'll be there before sundown."

"We'll be where? Where are you taking me?"

"Looks like you'll get your answer sooner than expected," Moony said, spying a dust cloud advancing toward them.

When it neared, Lily's heart dropped to her stomach, as she saw a whole posse of Indians emerge from it.

"What are you waiting for? Draw your gun!" she hissed against Prongs' shoulder.

"You want me to gun down fifteen men?" he whispered back.

"They're Indians!"

"I know, I never trust Indians. I figure it's their fault for bein' on our land before we got here," he said flatly.

Lily was stunned into silence, while one of the Indians spoke to the Marauders in a language she didn't understand. Prongs replied in the same tongue and after a short discussion, the outlaws were surrounded by the savages and led forward like cattle.

"What did they say? What's happening?" Lily whispered into his back.

"They're taking us back to their camp. I think they might kill us."

"What? Aren't you going to do something!? I don't want to die like this!"

"To die would be an awfully big adventure," he smirked. Was he serious!?

Once the party entered the Indian camp, the riders all dismounted and she tried not to tremble when a stern looking Indian with two long black braids and a feather in his hair held up a small wooden bowl filled with corn to her. She looked at it, completely terrified, and Padfoot leaned closer and whispered.

"You're supposed to take that. It's a sign of hospitality."

Her head snapped to look at him, then to glare at Prongs, who was barely keeping it together. Lily smiled at the Indian and took the bowl with a small bow. The tribesman bowed as well, and then Prongs said something in their language again and gave them his satchel. The tribe began jabbering excitedly, before giving the cowboys some space. As soon as she was sure she wouldn't offend anyone, Lily whacked Prongs with the bowl.

"You absolute _bastard_! You made me think they were going to kill us!"

His laughter echoed above the natives' voices, soon joined by Padfoot, Wormtail and Moony.

* * *

oOo

"I see you haven't tried to escape in about four hours. You're starting to warm up to us, Doc," Prongs said, when Lily sat down between him and Wormtail by the small fire of the Marauders that night.

"What game are you playing? You steal medicine and you give it to the Indians, you work with Frank Longbottom, an honest and decent man if I ever met one, and you're supposed to be this vile, rowdy group of hoodlums, but for more than a week now the worst thing I've seen you do is cheat at cards."

"A vile, rowdy group of hoodlums. I like the sound of that. Has a nice ring to it," Padfoot chortled. The Marauders exchanged amused smiles.

"What else are they saying about us?" Wormtail asked excitedly.

"Saying? Are you implying it isn't true?"

"Might be. Might not be," Prongs grinned cheekily.

"They're saying you steal horses."

"Not when we have our own already."

"That you've robbed multiple shops."

"Well, you know what they say. Crime doesn't pay. Gotta get our moolah from somewhere."

"That you robbed the Hogwarts Express."

"Robbed?" Prongs frowned. "Like we stole their property?"

"That money was supposed to pay the salary of every worker in the county!" Lily exclaimed angrily.

"Money?" Padfoot echoed, his brows knitted as well. "They're spreadin' that we stole _money_?"

Lily shot a confused look at each in turn.

"Didn't you?"

"That train was transferring slaves," Prongs answered darkly. "Blacks and Indians. They were going to sell them at Hogsmeade."

"... But why would they lie?"

"Because..." Prongs looked around at his friends, who all gave him small nods. "America is slowly being overtaken by a man. A very dangerous man, pullin' the strings behind the curtains. He's behind all this 'relocation' of the natives and all the propaganda that's been goin' around. We are members of a secret organization that's tryin' to stop him. Frank is too. You say your town needs you? Well, _we_ need you to help these people. Their healers are not familiar with the multitude of diseases we've introduced them to. We won't force you to do anything against your will, but we will ask you. Will you help?"

Lily held his gaze, mesmerized by the flames dancing in his hazel eyes.

"I will," she found herself saying. "Prongs," she added after a bit of hesitation.

"James."

"Huh?"

"My name. It's James."

He smiled at her and she felt something stir in the pit of her stomach. He reached out a hand and she stared at it for only a second, before placing hers in it.

"Lily."


	6. Sibling Rivalry

**Written for the Camp Hogwarts challenge, Cabin Longbottom.**

**Task:** Pottery- Write about the Next-Gen making something for their parents (50 points)

**Written for the Quidditch League****, LL Finals, Chaser 3****.  
**

**Go Gryffindor! **

**Words: **1, 670

**Prompts**:  
1\. (spell) Bat-Bogey Hex  
9\. (colour) periwinkle  
4\. (restriction) no using the word 'Weasley'

* * *

**Sibling Rivalry**

oOo

Dominique leaned over her cauldron, carefully measuring exactly five drops of peppermint essence and letting them fall into it. The potion turned a delightful snow-white and she stirred it seven times clockwise, until it thickened into a soft cream. She sniffed the swirling puffs of smoke rising from her creation and smirked. It smelled heavenly.

She scooped up a healthy amount and filled the special jar she had prepared for it, before screwing the lid shut and tapping it with her wand, muttering a freezing charm. The cream cooled and she reached for the string, to which she had already attached the card, and tied it around the throat of the jar. Setting it on her desk, she admired her handiwork. Her dad was sure to love it.

For the last week or so, Dominique had struggled with what she wanted to get him for his birthday. When she was little, she and her siblings gave him the usual kid stuff – drawings, mugs they had scribbled all over, homemade cards and key chains made of macaroni. When they grew up a little, however, each sibling had started to save up money for something better, or just work their magic into the gift. And each year, Dominique had been overshadowed by her siblings. Like she was in everything else.

Louis was the baby of the family, as well as the only boy, so their parents naturally dotted on him. But Victoire _always_ had to one-up her at everything. She was beautiful and smart, and everyone pretty much worshipped the ground she walked on. She even had a fanclub dedicated to her at Hogwarts last year. A fanclub! Full of shallow girls hoping to be as vapid as her, and drooling guys who stared at her like zombies every time she walked by! And of course, it wasn't much better at home. Victoire was Daddy's Little Princess, all she had to do was bat her eyelashes at him, and he let her get away with anything. She never missed an opportunity to show off and rub her talents in Dominique's face – whether it was some new, complicated spell she learned or the endless string of Os she got in every subject. No matter what Dominique did or how hard she tried, her sister always overshadowed her.

Well, no more! This time Dominique was _determined_ to beat her at something. Last year Victoire somehow got her hands on an incredible dragon skin jacket, which their dad didn't take off for two whole weeks, while Dominique's gift (a personalized picture frame with little dragons flying along the edges) was left on the shelf, forgotten. The year before, she bought him Wasps VS Tornadoes tickets. The one prior to that, it was a bottle of rare Elderflower wine.

But this... this would be Dominique's year. This time, _she_ would be the one that made her dad smile so brilliantly, his scars became almost invisible. She had poured her blood, sweat and tears into this recipe, and she had invented the perfect Rosemary Mint Shaving Cream! Her father liked being clean-shaven, and her mother loved mint, so it was an ideal gift!

With the cauldron cleaned and the jar in her hands, Dominique almost skipped down the stairs of Shell Cottage, intent on waiting for her dad to return from work and surprise him with her gift, before Victoire or Louis had the chance to overshadow her again. But before she could even reach the bottom of the stairs, she ran into her elder sister.

"Dominique!" Victoire gasped. "Is that _my_ sweater?"

Dominique looked down at the periwinkle blue pullover she was wearing. "I'm just borrowing it. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal, you brat, is that you went in my room and just took my things without permission!" Victoire exploded. "How many times have I told you not to touch my stuff? Take it off!"

The older girl gripped the edge of the sweater and pulled, while Dominique struggled to keep her balance.

"Victoire, let go!"

"I said take it off, you thief!"

"Get your hands off me!"

"Give it back!"

"No, don't, you'll rip–"

CRASH!

The jar with shaving cream shattered as it hit the ground, tiny pieces of glass scattered to the floor and the white paste smeared on the carpet. The two sisters were momentarily frozen in place, and Dominique's eyes were wide with horror, as she watched the fruit of all of her hard labor stain her mother's rug.

"Dom, I'm so–"

But she didn't wait for her sister to finish, as anger flared up inside her and she drew her wand from the back pocket of her jeans. Suddenly, small green bats flew out of Victoire's nose, swarming around and attacking her. She shrieked like a banshee and waved her arms around frantically, trying to beat them away, but they just kept coming.

"What is going on 'ere?"

The bat-bogeys dissipated into gold dust and faded away, revealing the girls' very angry mother, eyes blazing and nostrils flaring.

Dominique and Victoire exchanged guilty looks. Victoire was sporting a few scratches and cuts on her face and hands, while Dominique's hair was like a bird's nest and the periwinkle sweater was twisted around and hung awkwardly from her frame. Then suddenly they both erupted with explanations.

"Mum, she went into my room–"

"–she pulled it right off and my jar–"

"–and then she hexed me and–"

"–I worked so hard, and she's so petty–"

"–I _told_ her not to touch my things a thousand times–"

"Enough!" their mother shouted, silencing them both. "Victoire, explain."

"I was going up to my room and I saw she had stolen my sweater–"

"I was just borrowing it!" Dominique exclaimed. Her mother threw her a glare and she shut up.

"So then I tried to make her take it off and she hexed me!"

"She made me drop my jar of–"

"Dominique! Go to your room!"

"But Mum, she broke–"

"I said, room! Aller!" her mother snapped, and Dominique stared at her angrily for a few seconds, before turning on her heel and storming up the stairs, slamming the door to her room behind her.

* * *

oOo

Fifteen minutes later, Dominique lay on her stomach in her bed, head buried in the pillow. Why did it always happen to her? Why couldn't she do anything right? Why did Victoire have to be so petty? Why, why, _why_?

A soft knock brought her out of her thoughts, but she didn't respond. The door creaked and someone's footsteps echoed through the floor. The springs of her bed squeaked as that someone sat on it.

"I'm sorry, okay?" the rather annoyed voice of her sister sounded behind her. "I didn't mean to break your stupid jar."

Dominique snorted derisively without even bothering to look up.

"Would you stop being such a brat and just accept my apology already?" Victoire snapped, causing her to shoot up and cry in indignation,

"_I'm_ the brat? You tried to _literally_ take the clothes off my back!"

"Those clothes weren't yours to begin with!" her sister yelled back. "This wasn't all my fault, so grow up for once and admit you were to blame for it too!"

"Stop treating me like I'm inferior!" Dominique exploded. "I'm not a little kid anymore!"

"Then stop acting like one! You have no idea how exhausting it is to constantly clean up after you and Louis!"

"Oh, woe is you; it must be so hard being perfect all the time!" Dominique said scathingly. "I wonder what's worse, being a magical prodigy or having a bloody _fanclub_ devoted to you."

"I am not effortlessly good at magic, you know!" Victoire puffed indignantly. "I have to work hard for every O I get! I'll have you know that I practiced the _Veraverto_ spell until I couldn't see straight and Teddy had to take me back to the common room. I spend my time at Hogwarts in the Library, unlike you and Louis. How many parties did you have in Gryffindor instead of studying for your O.W.L.s next year?"

Dominique gaped at her sister, momentarily stunned to learn she wasn't just innately excellent at everything.

"And I never asked for that fanclub," Victoire continued, suddenly sounding quite glum and looking down at her hands. "I'm a little freaked out by them, if you want to know the truth. I can't... relax around strangers the way you can. And now they're calling me 'The Ravenclaw Ice Queen,' and honestly, it's beginning to affect me. I envy how carefree you are sometimes, how you don't let what other people say get to you, but I'm just... not like that."

Dominique's anger seeped away, and she unexpectedly felt like hugging her sister and comforting her. Her hand rose just a little, before she thought better of it and lowered it again.

"I envy you too," she said quietly. "You're just so damn amazing all the time, and when you constantly show off to mum and dad, it makes me feel like I'm nothing, compared to you. You're popular and smart, and I'm just... mediocre. At everything."

Victoire looked up and studied her for a long minute.

"When I show our parents a new spell, it's because I'm so happy to have finally mastered it," she said slowly. "I didn't realize it made you feel inferior. I'm sorry."

"... I'm sorry too. For taking your sweater. And for the Bat-Bogey Hex." Dominique smiled slightly. "And... I can help you be more... friendly. If you want."

Victoire returned the smile. "I think I'd like that. And I can help you with any schoolwork you have. Though judging by that hex, you're pretty good already."

The two girls chuckled, and after a bit of hesitation, Victoire drew her sister into a gentle hug. Dominique inhaled her sweet rose perfume, and her hand rose again, this time wrapping itself around the other girl's waist.


	7. Healer Evans

**Written for the Camp Hogwarts challenge, Cabin Longbottom.**

**Task:** First aid- Write about being a Healer (50 points)

* * *

**Healer Evans**

oOo**  
**

Lily put the surgical gloves on over her shaking hands and downed a Calming Draught. The Healers always kept a large supply for the hysterical patients and their friends and family. It wasn't that she hadn't operated on anyone before – she had just never done it on a _child_ before.

Lily had become a full-fledged Healer only two months ago. During peace times, she probably wouldn't be able to gather much experience in such a short time, but in the middle of what was an all out _war_ against Voldemort and his followers at this point, practice for a surgeon was not hard to come by. Every day more and more wounded came in, sometimes literally by the hour. Whenever the Death Eaters got too carried away, twenty or thirty people would need to be accepted at once, and the hospital was bursting at the seams. Nearly every ward had to be enlarged with an expansion charm, and new beds conjured to accommodate the sick and injured.

More often than not, there weren't enough Healers to take care of everyone, which was why Lily had been doing the work of a licensed Healer pretty much from the moment she got accepted into the program. She had seen everything by this point: cut off limbs, skin burned so horribly it looked like it was melting, wounds cursed to fight any and all attempts to treat them, people scarred and disfigured by torture, the word 'mudblood' branded or carved into their skin. But children, they were always handled by the more experienced, by those with the steadiest wands.

This child in particular had just had a bad stroke of luck. The Head Healer was attending a funeral, and as Lily had the graveyard shift tonight, she was the only one presently at St. Mungo's capable of performing the operation. There was no time to owl any of the Senior Healers – if the punctured kidney was not attended to in the next twenty minutes, the child was as good as dead.

Just as Lily was fixing her red hair in a tight bun and hiding it under the lime-green hat, there was a knock on the door. Miles, one of the new apprentices straight out of Hogwarts, poked his head in and said timidly, "Er, Healer Evans? The operation has been cancelled."

Lily whirled around to face him. "Cancelled? I was told the child was on death's door!"

Miles looked down, his whole face turning red. "He is... but the father refused to sign the permission form."

"What!? Why in Merlin's name would he do that? His son is dying!"

"He... he said that... well," the apprentice stammered, but Lily didn't have time for his shyness today. She pushed past him and nearly ran down the hallway to the children's ward.

Storming in through the double doors, she immediately spotted a swarm of Healers gathered around one of the beds.

"Mr. Farnham, please reconsider..."

"There is nothing to reconsider! Either find me a new Healer or let me spend the last few hours with my son in peace!"

Lily froze. She knew this man. Bill Farnham was three years above her at Hogwarts, in Gryffindor House.

"What is this about?" she said, nearing the bed. The other Healers shot her desperate looks, and one handed her a clipboard with the permission form as they filed out of the ward. Bill gave Lily a spiteful glare, then turned his eyes to the bed, where his son was barely drawing breath.

"Mr. Farnham," Lily started gently. "Why won't you sign the permission form? Your son is dying."

"Then find me another Healer," he growled through gritted teeth. She stared at him in bewilderment.

"You're doing this because you don't want _me_ to operate on him?"

He glared at the floor silently, avoiding her eyes. Lily searched her head for all the times they had spoken in Hogwarts and tried to remember if she had offended him in some way. Nothing came to mind.

"Look, I realize most parents don't like the idea of having someone as green as I am work on their kids, but I'm the only Healer on duty capable of performing this operation," Lily explained, as mildly as she could, while a child was dying right under her nose. "I assure you though, I have done this procedure before and there's nothing to–"

"I won't let a filthy mudblood touch him!" Bill Farnham exploded, turning his angry eyes to her again. "I don't trust someone like you with my son's life!"

Lily couldn't believe her ears. A child was going to die because of her birth?

"Well too bad, because I'm the best shot your boy has at life!" she said sharply. "Are you going to condemn him to certain death, rather than let 'someone like me' help him? _I can save him!_"

"I seriously doubt that," he snapped. "It's a complicated procedure, and it involves magic way beyond that of a mudblood!"

"So you're signing your son's death warrant because of blood prejudice?" she exclaimed, completely shocked. She knew this sort of thing ran deep, but for a child, for his child, she would have thought he'd get over his pride and try _anything_.

Bill turned to the kid in the bed again. The little boy was out cold, his skin a sickly gray hue, his whole body was drenched in sweat and his breathing was labored, coming out in heavy, wheezing pants.

Lily gripped the wand in the pocket of her apron. She knew what she could do to get that permission form signed. She and Bill were the only conscious people in the ward. The curse was at the tip of her tongue, yet she hesitated. She had never used an Unforgivable before. Was it right to manipulate this man, to force his hand and take away his free will? There was a reason why this spell was illegal. No one had the right to control another person's actions, it was immoral, it was _wrong_. She could go to jail for this.

Then her green eyes fell on the child in the bed again, and she knew one thing with absolute certainty – she could not let this innocent boy die.

"_Imperio!_"

Bill's eyes glazed over and he looked at her, a dreamy smile on his face. She held out the clipboard to him, and he took the self-inking eagle quill attached to it and obediently scribbled his signature at the bottom.

"Thank you," Lily said curtly, taking the permission form back. "Now, _Obliviate!_"

Bill's eyes crossed and he shook his head in confusion. Lily turned on her heel without another word and left the ward with brisk, deliberate steps.

"Prepare the child and get him into the operation room, ASAP," she said to the first Healer she came across and shoved the clipboard at her chest. "We have a life to save."


	8. Not the One

**Written for the Let your OCs run Free! challenge.**

**OC used** – Canopus Fawley, otherwise appearing very briefly in **More Than a Feeling**.

**Task**: Write about a breakup.

**Character given**: Cassiopeia Black

**Prompts**:

(Dialogue) "I just want to know why. I deserve that much at least, don't I?"

(Word) loneliness

(Quote) "It's better to be unhappy alone than unhappy with someone - so far." by Marilyn Monroe

* * *

_"Being in a couple is hard. And committing, making sacrifices, it's hard. But if it's the right person, it's _easy_. Looking at that girl and knowing that she's all you really want out of life, that should be the easiest thing in the world. And if it's not like that, then she's not the One." - Marshall Eriksen  
_

* * *

**Not the One**

oOo

"I just want to know why. I deserve that much at least, don't I?"

Canopus looked into Cassiopeia's sad black eyes, and felt his heart sink. As much as he wanted, he didn't know how to put it into words.

It wasn't that his relationship with Cassiopeia was bad, far from it. While it was true they were pushed together by their families at first, it had grown to be something more. She was there to laugh at his bad jokes, listen to his rants and his worries, always had a comforting word to say. They got along splendidly – she was the first person he ran to with good news, and the first he wanted to tell his sorrows.

It wasn't that he stopped loving her. He had just never _truly_ loved her.

Eight days ago, his friend Charlus had dragged him to a jewelry shop, finally having gathered the nerve to pop the question. While he haggled with the clerks, Canopus was free to examine the rings in peace, and his mind had wandered to her. They had been together longer than Charlus and Dorea. His family was expecting him to propose as well, and soon.

_'__Are you thinking of following my example?'_ Charlus had asked then, grinning widely, his own ring safely tucked in the pocket of his waistcoat. Canopus had hummed some sort of agreement, staring at the gleaming diamonds thoughtfully.

_'__Canopus... don't get married.'_

He had turned to his friend then, staring at him with startled eyes. The grin was gone from Charlus' face, and he had become strangely somber.

_'__You really think I shouldn't?'_

_'__Being in a couple is hard. And committing, making sacrifices, it's hard. But if it's the right person, it's _easy_. Looking at that girl and knowing that she's all you really want out of life, that should be the easiest thing in the world. And if it's not like that, then she's not the One.'_

The more Canopus thought about it, the more he agreed. Love was supposed to be a whirlwind, a fever. He was supposed to miss her, to want her. And he just... didn't.

He had been feeling guilty about this for months, about saying that he loved her without really meaning or even _comprehending_ the words. The truth was, he had never been in love before. But he had seen it Charlus and Dorea, and what he felt for Cassiopeia wasn't it.

_It's better to be unhappy alone than unhappy with someone__, _he told himself. And he _was_ unhappy. Ten years out of Hogwarts, and he still hadn't accomplished _anything_. Oh, he had a cozy job at the Ministry, but it brought him no fulfillment. He did not excel at anything, he did not stand out from the crowd in any way, and he hadn't done anything worth noting in his twenty-seven years on this planet. He still had to figure out who he really was, and it took him longer than it should have, but he realized now that he didn't find any solace in Cassiopeia.

It was more habit than anything else that drove him to see her every day. In the four years they had been together, she had always been the one to call on him, so he never had a real opportunity to realize it, but her feelings and his were worlds apart. He didn't shy away from her company, but he didn't seek it out. He didn't mind the sound of her voice, but he didn't enjoy listening to it either. She was beautiful, but she never took his breath away.

"We just... aren't working, Cassie," he said, his throat dry as a desert.

"What are you talking about? I thought we were fine!" she exclaimed, placing her hands on her hips. "I don't understand. Did I do something wrong?"

"No! Of course not..." Canopus ran a hand through his dark hair awkwardly. "You're great, you're just..." Not the One. Why couldn't he say it?

"Tell me the truth, Canopus," she said, as her eyes softened and the anger gave way to sadness. "Is there someone else?"

"Look Cassie, I still care about you, a lot, but... What we have... it isn't _love_."

"Yes, it is!" she insisted hotly. "I love you, Canopus Fawley; I have ever since you took my hand on my nineteenth birthday and led me into a dance! We have been together for years and–"

"And I'm not happy," he interjected quietly. Cassiopeia stopped her tirade and gaped at him, wide-eyed. "And it has nothing to do with you," he added hastily. "And there is no one else. I've been holding this in for a very long time, but I realize now it is not fair to you. You deserve better than me. Find someone worthy of your love."

"I don't want to find someone worthy!" she exclaimed and seized him by the front of his robes. "I want _you_! Can't you see that?"

He stared back at her silently, but he didn't need to say a thing – she could read the unspoken words in his eyes. Hers filled up with tears and she let go, stumbling backwards slightly. He reached out to support her, but she pushed his hands away.

"Cassie..."

"Don't!" she snapped. "Don't you dare pity me! I am a Black, and I would like to keep whatever dignity I have left."

Cassiopeia straightened her posture and smoothed her features.

"I never wanted to hurt you," Canopus said quietly. "In the beginning, I truly thought that was what being in love felt like. I like walking with you, talking with you... Merlin, you're my best friend, Cassie. I _do_ care about you, I just..." Don't love you. The unspoken words hung in the air between them.

"And what brought on this revelation then?" she asked, her voice hard. "What made you see the error of your thoughts?"

"Charlus," he answered simply. When she remained silent, he risked a glance at her and saw her mouth was pressed into a thin line – a sure sign she was livid.

"My sister's fiancé?" she said, and he could tell it was taking a significant amount of effort to keep her voice even.

"Have you seen the way they look at each other? Have you heard them talk of the other, have you seen to what lengths they're willing to go to? Charlus braved a snow storm, just so he could walk her from the train to her coach."

"That's just because their love is different!" Cassiopeia cried, the carefully maintained façade crumbling again. "There is more than one way to be in love!"

"Maybe. But that is the kind of love I want. You mean a lot to me, but I don't count the hours until I see you again. I'm sorry. I know it's my fault for leading you on for so long, for being too much of a coward to come right out and say it..."

"You don't even know what you're saying now!" she exploded. "This is some silly notion you got from watching another couple! Just because we don't stare into each other's eyes all the time doesn't mean we're not in love!"

Canopus sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair again. "It's not just that. Watching them, it made me look at my own feelings honestly. You're just..." He swallowed thickly. "You're not the One."

"The 'One'?" she repeated, eyebrow rising skeptically. "Don't tell me you believe in that rubbish! There's no such thing as the 'One', it's just something old maids tell themselves to feel better! Are you really going to throw away everything we have to chase after some pipe-dream?"

Canopus looked down again, unable to meet her gaze. He knew she wouldn't cry, she was too proud, too stubborn to let the tears fall. What he was afraid of was the hurt and the accusation he would see in her dark eyes.

"Fine," Cassiopeia said, reaching for her handbag. "But you have just made the greatest mistake of your life. Heed my words, in a few years you'll find yourself miserable and alone, but by the time you realize your 'One' doesn't exist, I won't be there anymore. Have fun with the rest of your sad, disappointing life that will never be nearly as happy as the one you could have had with me."

And with that, she turned on her heel and left Fawley Manor, holding her chin up high.

Canopus was left to stare after her, loneliness enveloping him like a thick, suffocating blanket, as he realized he had just lost one of his best friends.


	9. Amendments in the Law

**Written for the Camp Hogwarts challenge, Cabin Longbottom.**

**Task:** Fort building- Write about the trio rebuilding the Magical world after the Battle for Hogwarts (100 points)

* * *

**Amendments in the Law  
**

oOo

Harry sighed and stared dejectedly at the stack of finished paperwork on his desk. When he dreamed of being an Auror back at Hogwarts, no one told him about the boring pencil-pushing part of the job.

"Hey mate, you done yet?" Harry looked up from his desk to see the ginger head of his best friend popping up above the wall separating their cubicles. "You know Hermione hates it when we're late."

"Just about." Harry smiled and arranged the papers in a neat pile. "Let's go."

The two Aurors left the office and took the elevator all the way up to the Atrium, then rode in a free telephone booth to Muggle London. When they reached the café where the trio met for lunch every day, Harry and Ron were surprised to find their usual table empty. They exchanged puzzled looks, but shrugged and sat down.

"Should we order?" Ron asked uncertainly, though his stomach growled insistently.

"Let's just wait a few minutes. I'm sure she'll turn up."

They filled the silence with small talk, but kept glancing to the door every couple of seconds. The war had been over for a good couple of years, but the nagging sense of worry every time someone was late was a hard thing to shake.

"We're being paranoid… right?" Ron said, his eyes lingering on the man that had just left the café. Harry muttered a 'yeah' as a response, but he was just as troubled.

Suddenly, the door swung open and the bushy hair of Hermione Granger whipped around her face as she approached her best friends in a brisk pace.

"Those narrow-minded, old-fashioned, stuck in the past fools!" Hermione muttered angrily as she sat down, slamming a thick black binder on the table. Ron breathed a sigh of relief and leaned over to kiss her cheek.

"What's all this?" Harry asked, reaching over and flipping the binder open.

"_This_ is the proposal for amendments in the law that just got turned down for the sixth time!" Hermione explained in frustration.

Harry skimmed the contents of the first page, his eyes widening in surprise. "Dementors?"

Ron leaned in and whispered in his ear, "She's been obsessed with this for a while. It's like S.P.E.W. all over again."

"It is NOT like S.P.E.W. at all!" Hermione exclaimed and pulled the binder over to herself, turning to a certain page, then shoving it in Harry's face. "It's about the inhumane treatment of prisoners!"

"Of Death Eaters, you mean," Ron said with a scowl. "People who tortured and killed for fun. Excuse us if our hearts don't tremble with sympathy for them."

"Some of them had little choice in the matter!" Hermione insisted hotly. "What about people like Draco who were almost forced into it?"

"Malfoy wasn't exactly forced," Ron countered. "He was eager to join, and everyone knew it. He used his mark to bully and intimidate others; we've _seen_ him do it!"

"He didn't know what he was getting into," Harry said. "And he protected us at Malfoy Manor, at a risk to his own life."

"Exactly!" Hermione beamed at Harry. "And what about other kids, or adults for that matter, who didn't realize what it would really mean to join Voldemort at the time? What about Regulus Black?"

Ron waved dismissively. "Those who were forced into it were acquitted."

"And as we all know, there's no way to cheat the system, right?" Hermione said sarcastically. "It's not like anyone we know was sent there for a crime he didn't commit!"

Harry felt his stomach drop.

"That was different, Hermione," Ron said, the casual tone of his voice dissipating. "Sirius was innocent."

"But everyone _thought_ he was guilty! Even Dumbledore!" Hermione insisted.

"He wasn't given a trial!" Ron pointed out.

"Even if he was, there was no evidence of his innocence," Harry said quietly. "Pettigrew was presumed dead, the Fidelius charm – broken... The whole explanation was too far-fetched, even if it _was_ the truth. He would've been sent to Azkaban either way."

"See?" Hermione said, glaring at Ron. "And he basically spent thirteen years being tortured by those horrid creatures! No one deserves that fate, guilty or not. We can't stand being around them for more than a few minutes, can you imagine _years_ of living under their influence day and night? You know most people go insane sooner rather than later, and they all start wishing for death within the first month!"

"And what do you suggest we do about it, Hermione?" Ron said. "Do you want us to just release the Dementors, let then have free reign of the countryside? You know there's no way to completely destroy them, it's either having them feed on prisoners or on normal people!"

"So we should just have them prey on people _we_ choose? Dragons or hags are dangerous too; does that mean we should pick out their victims?"

The two of them stared each other down intensely, then turned as one to Harry and said:

"Harry, tell him!"

"Harry, tell her!"

Harry stared thoughtfully at the black binder. Both of his friends made excellent points.

"It's true that Azkaban houses most of the remaining Death Eaters, and I'm sorry Hermione, but I really don't have a lot of sympathy to extend to cold-blooded murderers like the Lestranges."

"Ha!" said Ron, reclining back in his chair, a triumphant smirk on his face.

"_However_," Harry continued, "they are not the only ones in that prison. Remember Dumbledore's father, sentenced there for life because he cursed those muggle boys who terrorized his daughter? Barty Crouch's mother, who took her son's place? They had committed a crime, but nothing deserving of _years_ with the Dementors. And remember when Hagrid was sent there only on grounds of suspicion? Sturgis, when he was Imperiused into trying to break into the Ministry? What about Dung, when he impersonated an Inferius, or Merlin, _Stan Shunpike_? Those were all people who were innocent." He licked his lips, purposefully avoiding the subject of his godfather. "We have the same punishment for all crimes, and you have to agree that it's not fair." He threw a look at Ron, whose smile had turned into a frown.

"Ha," Hermione said victoriously.

"Yeah, okay, so the justice system is not exactly flawless," Ron admitted, straightening up again. "We have no way of knowing who was under Imperius and who wasn't, and yes, a few people slip through the cracks. We still can't just _release_ all of these Dementors into the wild! What if they start sucking souls left and right?"

"I have a proposal for just that," Hermione said, taking the binder again and flipping through it. "We can add a Dementor Task Force in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. That way there'll always be someone to ward them off if they get too close to populated areas, _and_ Dementors are intelligent enough for the Ministry to explain the situation to them. _This could work!_"

"And who's gonna guard the prison then?" Ron countered immediately.

"Aurors," Hermione shot back.

"It's in the middle of the ocean, Hermione, it's not fit for human habitation, and it's too far out to Apparate to!"

"So they'll use portkeys! I've compiled a rotation schedule that will be fair to everyone, but still keep the prison fully staffed at all times!"

"We have more important things to do than walk between cells!"

"More important than keeping murderers behind bars?!"

"It's just the way things have always worked, these law amendments will never pass!"

"That's only because of narrow-minded wizards like you, who're too stuck in their ways to even _consider_–"

"Enough!" Harry exclaimed, effectively ending the argument. Ron and Hermione shut up, turning to look at him. "Nobody wants Dementors just roaming Britain freely, but we have to choose the lesser of two evils. This won't be easy, but we can talk to Kingsley about it. I'm sure we can convince him to at least give it some thought, and his word can override any officials that are turning you down."

Ron mumbled something that sounded like 'It will never work' and pouted grumpily until the waitress brought them their lunch.


	10. Cursed

**Written for the Let your OCs run Free! challenge.**

**OC used** – Piper Spudgen, otherwise appearing in **More Than a Feeling**.

**Prompt Pack 5 – **(Song) 'Heroes' by Mâns Zelmerlöw, (Word) dissimulate, (Restriction) Do not use dialogue, (Sentence) It was everlasting.

* * *

**Cursed**

oOo

Piper stared into the flames, her thoughts a wild mess of tangled emotions.

The campfire was burning bright, but all she could see were the dancing shadows of the trees. She knew she should be grateful to even be alive, but all she could taste in her mouth was bitterness. Yes, she had made a few mistakes in the past. In retrospect, she should've known that Voldemort wouldn't really care about her. She was just a pawn, a tool he used to achieve his own ends. But then again, hadn't she tried to use him too? She didn't necessarily agree with the idea of domination over muggles, but she didn't oppose it either. The main reason she agreed to be the Dark Lord's spy in Gryffindor was because she wanted _power_. Power and recognition. Two things she could never get on her own.

It had been a simple mission. At least, it was supposed to be. Tired of waiting, the Dark Lord had ordered her to act and expose Lupin's secret in the most brutal, undeniable way possible – getting him to kill. Once it was confirmed without a shadow of a doubt that Dumbledore's furry little experiment had failed, the old fool would finally be booted out of the school, and someone more suited to Voldemort's needs would take over.

He had reassured her that should she pull this off, she would be rewarded most handsomely. What a fool she had been! She should have seen the trap when she was ordered to report immediately after doing the deed. Of course Voldemort wouldn't want any witnesses to his meddling in Dumbledore's dismissal. She should have known he wouldn't send just any old Death Eaters to meet her. She should have known the Blood Moon that night would make for a great cover-up, once the Ministry found her mangled corpse.

If it wasn't for Lisa Fawley, she wouldn't even be alive right now. Piper knew logic dictated she should be grateful for getting away with only a few scars and a bite, but she wasn't. It was true Lisa had ran straight into the forest that night and pulled her out by the seat of her pants, even though she didn't have to. She could've ran straight to the school instead and told the teachers, by which time Piper would have been dead. But was this life truly better than death?

Was forcing herself to dissimulate her pain with a smile and to walk with a head held high while her bones ached from the transformation worth it? People still looked at her with revulsion. They still treated her with mistrust. Even after she left Britain, it was the same everywhere. No one ever looked past what she had become; no one had bothered to know the person. All they cared about was the wolf.

Piper shoved another bundle of sticks into the fire. Yes, she was alive, but at what price? Scarred and cursed. There was no cure. There was no salvation. It was always at the forefront of her mind, no matter what she did. It couldn't be ignored. It couldn't be undone. It was everlasting. Eternal. Her never-ending torment.

Another memory surfaced from the folds of her subconscious and Piper scowled. Lupin had come to talk to her after she got out of the Hospital Wing. He had sat next to her and told her it wasn't hopeless. That if six people had given _him_ a chance, maybe, _just maybe_, it could happen to her. Ha! What a joke. People like that didn't exist.

She felt tears burning in her throat and scolded herself for being so weak. For letting herself believe him.

It was six months ago when Piper met _her_. Claudette.

Claudette was the only one that didn't run. The only one who stooped down and helped Piper back to her feet. She wiped away her tears and told her that werewolves weren't monsters. They were _heroes_. They had to struggle with so much, and still pull through somehow, despite the demons dancing in their minds. That, Claudette had told her, was the mark of a true hero – persevering, despite all the odds.

She taught her how to appreciate the smaller things in life, how to find joy again, and turned her whole world around with just a smile and a wink. Her cheerful outlook and bubbly personality transformed the twisting worms in Piper's stomach into butterflies.

They had laid together in that meadow during the new moon, just inhaling the sweet scent of the flowers and relishing in the calm. The only sounds were the crickets, and Claudette had said they were singing a song just for them. And at that moment, when their hands touched in the pale moonlight, Piper had truly felt at peace, finally believing Lupin's words. Even monsters like them could find a place in this world. Even werewolves could love.

Love. What a foolish notion.

Love did not exist. Not for her, anyway. Whatever she and Claudette had was fleeting, temporary – it was natural that the curse would drive her away sooner rather than later. Piper should have seen it coming. Werewolves just weren't meant for love.

Piper poked the embers angrily, a small, nagging voice chiming at the back of her head. Lupin had love. He had friends that backed him up, despite knowing what he was. He had someone smile at him and hold his hand, despite having seen the monster he becomes. If he made it... why shouldn't she?

No! He didn't make it! It was impossible, Claudette had proven that when she said she would never leave her side, that she would follow close behind no matter what, and yet she _was gone_! They would all get tired of him soon enough, it was simply taking slightly longer!

Or maybe, the voice chimed again, it wasn't the curse that was driving everyone away. Maybe it was her.

Piper stood up, fiercely wiping away the tears that were welling up in the corners of her eyes. She didn't need what he had! She didn't need friends! And she most certainly did _not_ need Claudette! She was perfectly self-sufficient, and if others chose to turn their backs on her, then FINE! She would turn _her_ back on _them_! She would take on this curse, and she would endure tonight's full moon all by herself, because she didn't need a thing from _anyone_!

Suddenly, a red light shone through the trees. A terrified scream broke the silence. Piper pulled out her wand, her head whipping left and right, but all she could distinguish were dark silhouettes, dancing in the shadows. Then everything went still. For a few tense moments, Piper just stood there, next to her small fire, her eyes darting back and forth and her whole body wound up like a spring.

Then finally, someone advanced towards her. She barely had time to register the black hood over his head or the killing curse on his lips, when a jet of blue hit him from the darkness, and he toppled to the ground, caught in a full-body bind. A second figure emerged from the tree line, and Piper's eyes snapped to meet those of her savior.

_Claudette..._


	11. The Greater Good

**The Quidditch Pitch - **"Power doesn't corrupt people, people corrupt power." by William Gaddis

**Drabble Club - **"We have, I fear, confused power with greatness." by Stewart Udall

**Written for the Quidditch League, Chaser 3 for the BallyCastle Bats, round 10.**

**Task: **A relationship between two characters from rival schools.

**Prompts:**

4\. (word) careless

5\. (quote) 'Out of the millions and millions of people that inhabit this planet, he is one of the tiny few I can never have.' - Tabitha Suzuma, Forbidden

15\. (song) 'Thousand Needles' by Lea Michele

**Word Count:** 2 995

* * *

-wWw-

It was time.

Albus stood on the sandy beach in the cold April morning as waves crashed behind him, foreshadowing the coming storm. His eyes soared up the frame of the dark fortress towering before him and the even darker skies looming above it. For too long he had put this off. He had hoped in vain that someone else would rise and end this terror for him, but he could wait no longer. The public outcry was too great, the monstrosities committed so numerous and horrific, that Albus was finally forced to face the truth - if he did not take down Gellert, no one else would.

Approaching the jet-black building and easily dispatching the admittedly powerful and numerous wards and shield charms surrounding it, the British wizard stopped dead in his tracks when he reached the large entrance. He looked at the inscription carved in big golden letters above the door, and felt a thousand needles pierce his heart.

**For the Greater Good**

Those foolish words he had spoken as a boy were now the banner under which all manner of Dark Wizards gathered, the slogan they parroted to justify their many horrible acts. And suddenly, it all rushed back…

* * *

-wWw-

_"So you agree with me then?" Gellert said instead of a greeting early one morning, a smirk on his lips and a letter in his hand. "That we need to seize control?"_

_"I do indeed." Albus returned the smirk, ushering his friend into the house._

_"And it just struck you in the middle of the night that I was right?" Gellert said teasingly, following him to the small kitchen._

_"I couldn't sleep," Albus admitted, his face still stretched into a smile. He took an apple from the fruit bowl on the table and threw it to his friend, who caught it effortlessly with one hand._

_"And you couldn't wait to tell me in the morning? That owl of yours woke me up, you know."_

_"Don't pretend _you _have not sent me letters in the dead of night. Hypocrisy does not look good on you."_

_Gellert grinned devilishly, and Albus thought to himself that there was nothing in this world that would not look good on him._

_"You know I speak the truth," the early guest_ _said, taking a bite out of the red apple. "Not all men are born equal. You may attempt to learn more, develop your brain to think certain ways that might make you smarter, but you are not going to be able to work your way into a genius IQ._ _People like us are born with certain advantages, and it is our right, nay, our responsibility to take the lead._

_"Just look at what a mess of things muggles_ _make on their own! They simply do not have the understanding of how the world works that we do, and I dare you to point to two wizards more brilliant, more worthy than the two of us to be at the helm! We need to do this, not just for the good __of__ the muggle community, but for our own as well."_

_Albus took a fruit from the bowl for himself and twirled it in his fingers._

_"Under our rule, no muggles would have ever dared do what they did to my sister.__ If we had been in charge she wouldn't have to suffer the way she does now," he said darkly and Gellert beamed at him._

_"Exactly. We seize control for the Greater Good, as you say in your letter. You will do this with me, then? You will join me in my quest to bring about a golden age for wizard kind, one where we don't have to hide and live in fear of those inferior to us?" Gellert extended his hand. Albus stared at it for only a second, before taking it in a firm grasp._

_"For the Greater Good."__  
_

_"The Greater Good," Gellert echoed, squeezing his hand lightly.__ "Then leave with me. Tonight. We must not delay any longer."_

_"And just leave Aberforth and Ariana on their own?"__  
_

_"Why not? Is that not what you've been dreaming of ever since you got stuck in this miserable little village?"__  
_

_"Gellert, they are my family."_

_"And since when have you truly cared about your family?"__  
_

_Albus was quiet for a moment. True, he did not want to waste away here, and he could hire someone to look after his sibling while he was away. __There were ways, things he could do to get out of Godric's Hollow without having to be burdened by his responsibilities for the rest of his life… While he still could. _

_"So you plan to leave us, do you?"_

_The two young men turned to the door, where they saw Aberforth, hand clutching the frame and face contorted in anger. Albus stomach dropped and he let go of Gellert's hand. He hadn't even closed the door! How could he have been so careless?_

_"You want to abandon us to our fate and run off with him on some… on some what, conquest? You fancy yourself worthy of ruling the world, do you? You are not worthy of ruling chickens!" _

_"Be quiet," Gellert hissed threateningly.__  
_

_"I will _not _be quiet!" Aberforth exploded, then turned to his brother. "Ariana depends on you! You know I cannot take her to Hogwarts with me, and if I don't go back, we will starve!"_

_"Aberforth..."_

_"No, Albus, I don't need your excuses! We're a burden to you, you have made no secret of that! Yet like it or not, I am not of age and should I drop out, we'll have no hope of a livelihood! If you abandon us, you sign our death sentence!"__  
_

_"You will manage," Gellert said dismissively. "You have a garden, do you not? You will be of age soon enough, and you will find some employment. You cannot expect to hold Albus here to play babysitter, when he could be out there, making an actual change in the world."_

_Albus spied the fearful eyes of his sister peeking around the corner, but his brother was too riled up to notice._

_"You think yourself so superior to everyone else, but you know nothing of what it means to be a leader, to inspire others to follow you; you only know of power and taking what you want, without regard for anyone else!" Then he turned to Albus again. "He means to use you, can't you see that? People like him only want power, and once he has it he will discard you like yesterday's paper!"_

_"I said, be quiet!" Gellert snarled and his arm suddenly whipped forward, __his wand __pointed__ at Aberforth._

_Albus' hand immediately shot out, gripping his friend's wrist._

_"Gellert. Don't."_

_"Oh, you think he's going to _talk _his way into ruling the world, do you?" Aberforth continued scathingly. "You think he's not prepared to trample over anyone that got in his way? Wake up, Albus! You have gone completely insane this summer! You two and your endless arrogance, it's a wonder you're able to walk upright with heads this big!"_

_"Aberforth, for heaven's sake, _shut up_!"_

_"Not until I make you see! He will use you and then discard you, just like you're trying to do with us!" His head whipped to Gellert again, whose eyes were narrowed to slits. "You, Grindelwald, are nothing but a pathetic little man with delusions of grandeur, who is pissy at the world because he doesn't have anything to live for, nothing and no one important in his life, and no matter how 'great' you fancy yourself, you will never have what is truly important. You'll die a lonely, bitter old man, still angry and still inconsequential, until the very—" _

_"Crucio!"_

_Gellert's patience had finally worn thin. Aberforth writhed in agony on the ground, Ariana shrieked, and Albus just stared at the sight before him, completely thunderstruck._

_His best friend had just used the darkest of curses and__,__ judging by the smirk on his lips, _he enjoyed it_. _

_That was when, for the first time that summer, Albus saw the glorious halo around Gellert's head fall apart. The distorted lenses of his feelings cracked, then shattered, and he no longer saw Gellert as the shining white ideal of his imagination, but as the Dark Wizard he was, peppered in shades of grey._

_The subsequent duel was a blur of spells and shouts, and by the time Albus could think clearly again Gellert was gone, and Aberforth was crying over Ariana's dead body. _

-W-

_'How could I have been so blind?' Albus thought, standing over his sister's coffin._

_Gellert had gone that very night;__ to where, he did not care. All that mattered was that he left, and that sweet, innocent Ariana had paid the price of Albus' foolishness. In all the hours they spent together, he had failed to notice Gellert's true nature. He chalked his thirst for power up to ambition, his arrogance to justified pride of his own ability, his megalomania to a greater purpose.__  
_

_But he could no longer avoid the truth. It was his own fault really, for allowing himself to live under a delusion for so long. Out of the millions and millions of people that inhabit this planet, he was one of the tiny few Albus could never have. Not now, and perhaps, not ever._

_Gellert had never truly cared about him, that much was clear now. If he had, he would not have been so quick to break away, to pack up and walk out of his life__ when so much grief was heaped upon his shoulders. His heart was raw and bleeding, his guilt heavy and suffocating like a thick blanket, and yet all Albus craved was his company. All he wanted was to see that grin again, and look into those beautiful blue eyes, in which he had lost himself so often in the past…__  
_

_But that bridge was burned, leaving only the bitter taste of ashes in his mouth._

* * *

-wWw-

When he walked through the big black doors, Albus found him at the head of a long table, around which his followers had gathered to discuss the next piece of land they would conquer. As soon as he stepped inside, a deadly silence fell over the room. Blue met blue, as the two former friends saw each other again, for the first time in forty-five years. And after all that time, he still looked just as beautiful.

Gellert did not seem the least bit surprised to see him. Albus suddenly realized how he had been able to dispatch the security charms so easily, and why he met with no guards inside the fortress.

"Albus," Gellert said, and the mere sound of his name coming out of that mouth almost made him want to run. "I haven't seen you in quite some time. I hear you have done quite well for yourself. Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and as I understand it, you have been offered the post of Minister for Magic. Why turn it down?"

"You taught me a long time ago that I cannot be trusted with power," Albus replied gravely. "It corrupts. And absolute power corrupts absolutely."

"Power doesn't corrupt people, people corrupt power," Gellert sneered. "Power is neither dark or light; it is simply a tool. A tool anyone with enough wits can wield to achieve greatness. It's not too late, Albus. Join me. You know that with our combined power, neither men nor gods can stand against us!"

Albus looked sadly into those piercing blue eyes that had captivated him so in his youth and saw the maniacal gleam in them clearer than he ever had. How had he not noticed it before? That obsession, that cruelty, it had always been there, but he was too foolish, too entranced by that beautiful, eloquent stranger who spoke so passionately of his ideas to notice it. He got swept up in the enthusiasm, almost hypnotized by the conviction with which the other boy spoke.

But he had always known. Somewhere deep down, Albus had always known, though he had chosen to turn a blind eye to the truth. Gellert was a monster.

"Exerting your power over others does not make you great," Albus said quietly.

"Come now, Dumbledore. Do not pretend _you _have not said the same things to me. Hypocrisy does not look good on you," Gellert said with a twisted glint in his eyes and Albus felt like he had punched him in the stomach.

"That… was many years ago. We have, I fear, confused power with greatness. One cannot truly be great when all he has achieved has been taken by force."

"I beg to differ," Gellert said, holding up his wand for Albus to see. "Do you know what this is, Albus? Do you recognize it? After so many hours of discussing what it must feel like to hold this in your hand… you must know."

Albus' eyes widened with realization.

"The Elder Wand?"

"Precisely," Gellert said with an air of smug satisfaction, and for a second, Albus was able to glimpse that boy again, the golden-curled stranger who shared his fascination for what many considered to be a baseless fairytale. "I took this from Gregorovitch many years ago. It has helped me on my quest for the Greater Good!"

"The Greater Good," echoed the wizards around them. Albus had almost forgotten they were there.

"And I know the location of the other two," Gellert continued. "Soon, I will unite them and I will be the true Master of Death!"

The wizards and witches around them began chanting his name, but Albus was not impressed. If Gellert knew the other Hallows' location, he would have them by now.

"You are wrong, Gellert," he said mildly. "People like you and I can never be Masters of Death. Only one who does not fear Death, but accepts it and welcomes it like an old friend, can truly be its Master."

"I fear nothing!" Gellert hissed. "And that includes you! You came here today to face me, did you not? So do it then! Draw your wand and test it against the might of the Deathstick!"

Albus hesitated. True, he had come here with the intention of stopping his old friend, but something weighed on his shoulders. He knew what it was, yet did not want to admit it.

Gellert, however, had no such qualms. He fired a purple jet of light at Albus, who had to erect a wall of stone to block it. The wall exploded upon contact and he was forced to cast his most powerful shield charm to absorb the debris. When the smoke cleared, he saw Gellert's followers had fled the scene and a large hole was gaping from the ceiling above them, giving them a clear view of the gathering storm.

What followed was a three-hour duel between two of the most powerful wizards that ever lived. Both did things with their wands no one had ever even thought possible, and the onlookers who survived the initial explosion observed it all in terror and awe.

"You wonder why the wand resists you, don't you Gellert?" Albus said, blood streaking down his forehead and seeping into his robes at the shoulder, where one of his opponent's ice spears had pierced him.

"It does not resist me!" Gellert spat, trying to stand on his injured leg. "I am the master of the most powerful wand in existence!"

"You are _the wielder _of the most powerful wand in existence," Albus corrected him. "But you are not its master. You stole this wand, you have not won its allegiance. Would I have lasted this long, if this wand was truly as potent as you claim?"

A flicker of doubt crossed Gellert's eyes and he looked down to his hand. Albus took advantage of the distraction and blasted him into the wall. The fair-haired wizard was caught unawares and the impact knocked the wind out of him, as he collapsed in a heap on the ground. Standing on one knee, he panted heavily, trying to catch his breath as his former friend approached him slowly, wand pointed at his head.

"So what now, Dumbledore?" Gellert wheezed. "Will you kill me?"

"... No," came the barely audible response. The kneeling man looked up and saw the electric blue eyes of his opponent were wet with tears. "You showed me forty-five years ago that there are things much worse than death."

For a moment, Gellert was stunned into silence. He had known Albus cared for him in that way, he had always known… but for the first time in his life, he realized just how deeply he had cut the other man when he turned his wand on Aberforth and fled the scene of Ariana's death. The grief and pain in those eyes, whose happy twinkle he still remembered so clearly, completely overwhelmed him and he felt as if a thousand needles pierced his skin, unexpectedly leaving him mute as a turnip.

Gellert did not know what sort of magic Albus weaved into those words, but he found himself paralyzed before the other man. The hand holding a wand to his head fell to the wizard's side, and though this would have been the perfect opening for retaliation, Gellert did not strike. He simply stared into his old friend's eyes, unable to look away, as his grasp on the Elder Wand weakened and the wood slipped from his stiff fingers and rolled away.

In the end, it wasn't Albus' talents with a wand that had won him that duel. Oh no, it was a much greater power he wielded, something whose effects Gellert had greatly underestimated – until the moment it was used on him. For it was a magic that reaches beyond life and death, more ancient than the Hallows and more potent than any a wand could provide.

Love.


	12. RAB

**Quidditch Pitch** – Regulus Arcturus Black

**Drabble Club**** – **locket

**Written for the Quidditch League, Chaser 3 for the BallyCastle Bats, round 11.**

**Task:** A line from Bohemian Rhapsody** -** _I don't __want to__ die_.

**Prompts:**

1\. (word) delicate  
7\. (restriction) the whole fic can only take place in one room  
8\. (word) determined

**Word count:** 927

* * *

oOo

The boat glided with ease over the smooth, black surface of the lake.

Kreacher was gabbling something from behind but Regulus ignored him, keeping his determined gaze forward. It wasn't long before he spotted a small island in the middle, just like the house-elf had described. His eyes fell on the dark water and he almost shuddered, spotting the floating bodies in the lake that drifted aimlessly just inches below him. The terror that was bubbling just under the surface threatened to show, but Regulus ground his teeth and kept his face calm. Panicking now would do him no good.

The small boat hit the rocky shore and he stepped off, followed by his reluctant servant.

"Master Regulus should not be here. Bad place this is, a very bad place," Kreacher kept muttering under his nose. "When the Dark Lord learns we've been here without permission the young Master will have to suffer His wrath!"

Regulus tried his best to ignore him, but the heavy ball in his stomach agreed with the elf. He should not be here. No one should be here.

He walked up to the pedestal in the middle of the island, atop which was the basin Kreacher had told him about, glowing with an ominous green light. So this was the potion the house-elf was so frightened of. His throat tightened and he swallowed thickly.

The wand in his hand made a deliberate motion through the air and a silver goblet with the Black family insignia appeared in his hand. He slowly filled it with the potion and raised it up. Just out of curiosity, he tried to empty it on the ground, but the liquid just disappeared and when he looked to the basin again, it had magically re-filled itself. There was no other way then. He had to die.

Regulus reached into his pocket and took out the duplicate locket he'd prepared for this back at Grimmauld Place. He watched it dangle from the delicate chain wrapped around his fingers and thought about how his short life would come to an end. He thought about his family, about how his mother would react upon hearing of it, about how his cousins might even shed a tear. Then he thought about his brother, how he had chosen to be free, something Regulus had never had the spine to do. What would Sirius think of his death? He'd no doubt believe that his idiot brother got in too deep, then turned tail and tried to run away.

Yes, Sirius would probably think him a coward.

He looked down at his reflection in the basin and saw himself – a boy, a foolish boy that signed up for something he was not ready for, something he could never escape. Had he always been this pale?

The young man brought the goblet down to the basin to fill it up with the vile potion, but his hand shook. Unexpectedly all his doubts, hesitations, his fears, his cowardice, all the feelings he had managed to suppress up until that point flooded his barriers and overwhelmed him. It was all suddenly real, and the realization he was about to die hit him like a battering ram.

He was about to die.

He would never know what it was like to lie next to the woman he loved; never know what it felt like to hold his first-born, to live his life without having to look over his shoulder, free of Voldemort and free of his guilt. He'd never have the opportunity to tell his brother he was sorry, nor would he ever get to tell _her_ how he really felt...

_I don't want to die._

For only a moment his grip on the goblet loosened, but just as it started to slip his fingers tightened around it again, this time so hard his knuckles turned white.

Something moved in the reflected light of his wand and he saw a ghoulish pale hand float just beneath the water. Bile rose up in his throat and suddenly every single person he had ever tortured flashed to the forefront of his mind. Large, begging eyes, blood-curdling screams, wet tear tracks running down horrified faces. No, there was no going back. He couldn't undo the damage he'd done yesterday, but maybe, just maybe, if he acted now, if he did it quickly enough, there could be hope for tomorrow.

There was no life for him out there. The second Voldemort realized he had betrayed him he would be living on borrowed time. And Voldemort _would_ find out, of this he was sure. There were so many things he would never get to experience, but he had forfeited his life the minute the thought of rebellion had even entered his mind. It was not fair that no one would ever know of the only brave thing he had ever done, but he hoped that with this one last act he would make up for some of the wrongs he had committed. That maybe by doing this he would finally give his short life something he had pointlessly searched for elsewhere - meaning.

"Let Kreacher drink it, Master Regulus! Kreacher is most willing to—"

"No," Regulus said firmly. "I must do this. You are to force this potion down my throat, no matter what I say. And after I am dead, you are to get out of this cave and destroy the locket. That is an order."

Kreacher whimpered sadly, but the young Slytherin ignored him and raised the goblet to his lips.


	13. A Knight's Honor

**Written for the Camp Hogwarts challenge, Cabin Longbottom.**

**Task:** Archery- Write about a medieval duel (100 points)

* * *

**A Knight's Honor  
**

oOo**  
**

Sir Cadogan raised another beer and drained it in one gulp. The men around him cheered loudly, filling the dingy tavern with drunken cheer. The back-spotted yellow feline the size of a Great Dane at his feet bared its fangs, but he quickly pacified it with a wave of his wand.

"Aye, a great deal I got on this one, only five hundred galleons!" the slightly inebriated knight said, gesturing to the tavern wench to refill his goblet. "The merchant told me the story of how he acquired it. Took it straight from under the mother's bosom! This here is only a cub, but a full-grown Nundu has yet to be tamed by less than one hundred men, working together!"

Sir Cadogan observed the looks filled with awe and veneration his company was throwing at his brand new pet with smug satisfaction. It could be a bit of a handful, as he needed to re-do the calming spell every few hours, but as long as he kept it away from the curtains, the animal didn't do much damage to his home.

Suddenly he heard the low hiss of a snicker. His eyes rose from the goblet and immediately identified the scoundrel, a robed man with a long beard, sitting alone one table over. Sir Cadogan slammed his drink onto the table, spilling its contents everywhere, but drawing the attention of his companions.

"Is there something you'd like to say, Sir?" he demanded loudly.

The other man turned slightly to look at him, and the mocking glint in his eyes set a fire blazing inside the knight.

"Only that what you have at your feet is not a Nundu."

The entire tavern went quiet. The men gathered on Cadogan's table shifted their eyes uncomfortably, waiting to see how he would take this insult. And he took it as any hot-blooded Gryffindor would.

"Are you calling me a liar?!"

"I am calling you a fool. Anyone who has ever seen a Nundu with their own eyes can tell you that even as a cub they are the size of a full-grown lion. This animal is too skinny, too small and too fragile to be a Nundu."

Cadogan rose to his feet, his plate armor clinking in the silence. "You, Sir, dare insult me and my intelligence in front of my friends? It is plain to see by your manners that you are no Knight, but I shall challenge you to a duel! If you have even a drop of honor in your veins, face me as a man at sundown in front of this very tavern!"

"I'm in town on business. I don't really have time to educate loud-mouthed brutes," the stranger said calmly, taking a sip from his drink and turning his back on the rambunctious knight. Sir Cadogan nearly exploded with indignation.

"You offend me, yet deny me retribution? You, Sir, are a coward!"

The stranger's hand froze just as he was raising it up to his lips again. When he slowly turned his head to face Cadogan once more, his eyes were twinkling with a very clear threat.

"I did not wish you waste my time humiliating you in front of the entire town, but now you have made it personal. Sundown. And if you are late, I shall sever your ears and feed them to that cat."

With that, he stood up, left a few golden coins on the table and walked out the door.

* * *

-O-

Sir Cadogan was in front of the tavern ten minutes before sundown. He stood there with a hand on his sword, watching the golden disk's descent over the mountains.

"You should reconsider this, Cadogan," said William, the owner of the fine establishment. "I have heard rumors of this man. They say he is a powerful sorcerer, the brightest of his age."

"Being bright does not account for rudeness!" Sir Cadogan insisted. "Besides, are you suggesting I hide like some yellow-bellied rogue?"

William shook his head. "Your funeral. Be careful with my tavern though! You are the challenger, so if the walls get blown down, I'm charging you for damages!"

Sir Cadogan waved his hand dismissively. "No need to worry. I shall end this swiftly."

William sighed at the other man's hopeless attitude and walked inside. Cadogan was left to wait by himself, wondering if the stranger would pick a wand or a sword as his weapon. He expected the former, as the stranger did not seem like he could handle muggle weapons.

Just then, three young men in shiny plate armor approached him.

"Excuse me, Sir Knight?" one of them asked, getting his attention. "You are of a noble house, are you not?"

Sir Cadogan swept the lad with his eyes. That armor was too unblemished to have ever been used in battle, and the air with which the boy held himself spoke of high birth. The two other flanking him though gave the distinct impression of bodyguards.

"Aye, I am of the Cadogan family, young Sir."

The men exchanged a knowing grin.

"Then you must be very disgruntled with the King's current policies," the leader spoke again.

Something flared up in Cadogan's chest. "I beg your pardon?!"

The young man leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "You have heard of his deeds, have you not? He lowers the taxes so much for the peasants, yet the nobles have to pay more than they did before. He _says_ all that money goes to helping the less fortunate, but we all know he spends it on expensive brothels and fancy wine. He supports his depravities with _your_ money, and some of us nobles are tired of it. Sir Mordred is gathering support and will soon—"

"Speak no more!" Sir Cadogan exclaimed suddenly. "My dear boy, are you proposing to me to conduct treason against the King?!"

The noble's face contorted in a frown. "The King is not worthy of his crown!" he spat.

"Hold your tongue! I cannot allow you to spread vicious lies about our ruler! You shall cease immediately, or I shall have you brought before him!"

The young man scowled. "You are nothing but a blind sheep then, hanging on the King's every word, as if he were chosen by the Gods!"

Sir Cadogan could not stand for this any longer. The blade hissed as he drew it from the scabbard and made a wide arch in the air. Just before it connected with the other man's chest, a broad longsword blocked its path. Cadogan barely spared a glance towards the left bodyguard who had blocked him, and sidestepped, swinging his sword in a sideways arch in an attempt to bypass the longsword.

That was when another glint of metal shone to his right, and he barely had enough time to react and stop the second bodyguard's attack. Locked in a stalemate with him, he didn't even see who gave him the kick to the stomach. The armor protected him somewhat, but the force was still enough to make him flinch and give his enemies an opportunity to cut his thigh. He staggered backwards, then tried to block another swing of the enormous longsword, but lost his balance and fell in the dirt.

The young noble approached and put his leg on Cadogan's neck, flattening him to the ground and blocking his windpipe.

"You should be more careful who you pick fights wi—"

Suddenly, he was thrown off. Sir Cadogan could not see what was happening, being too busy gasping for air, but he heard screaming and saw flashes of light. He tried to get up, but his injuries and his air-deprived lungs necessitated a few minutes of rest.

As the knight lay on the ground and groaned, a tall silhouette blocked the last rays of the setting sun. Cadogan looked up and saw the rude stranger from the tavern, the one he was waiting for before the scuffle. The man looked down at him thoughtfully for a long moment, before extending his hand.

The dizzy knight looked at it in confusion. His eyes darted to the man's face, and he could see a slight smile behind the white beard. Reaching up, he accepted the help and his opponent drew him to his feet.

"That was very noble of you," the man said as Cadogan adjusted his armor. "I have seen many Knights, but few have demonstrated the loyalty to their King you have."

"To serve the King is a Knight's duty. To defend his honor is not something one should hesitate to do," Sir Cadogan said firmly. "King Arthur Pendragon stands up for something, and those who are wicked seek to undermine him with vicious lies."

"So you believe none of it then?" the stranger asked curiously.

"Falsehoods!" Sir Cadogan exclaimed. "Spoken by those in the shadows, hoping to mar the image of our just King! I shall not stand for such injustice!"

The stranger regarded him with a mixture of fascination and newfound respect. "A man of your convictions would find himself at home on the Round Table."

"To stand next to men who are noble and good would make a good home for any man, regardless of the strength of their convictions," the knight replied.

"Then perhaps you would not object to my suggesting to the King that a chair should be placed there for you?" the stranger said.

Sir Cadogan stared at him in bewilderment. "Aye, I would not. But why would our King listen to you?"

A smile ghosted over the lips of the robed man. "Because I am his most trusted advisor. They call me Merlin. Come, friend. Your audience with the King awaits."

He extended his hand again, in an obvious invitation for Apparition. Sir Cadogan considered the man before him once more, but after only a moment of hesitation, he clasped his palm firmly in his.


	14. Rolf Scamander and the Golden Rams

**For all of you Americans out there, the Georgia in this story is the name of a country on the east coast of the Black Sea, and not a state. Pull up a map and educate yourselves. ****(Ouch. So insulting. XD)**

**The Quidditch Pitch - **swimming

**Drabble Club - **"I love a good story"

**Written for the Quidditch League, Chaser 3 for the BallyCastle Bats, round 12.**

**Task: **Crossover, Misc. Category. With Jason and the Aronauts

**Prompts**:

**6\. (colour) silver**

**7\. (dialogue) "Who the bloody hell is that?"**

**13\. letter**

**Word count**: 2 977

* * *

**Rolf Scamander and the Golden Rams**

oOo

Rolf breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the salty sea air. He'd always hated apparation and the sickening feeling that followed, but he wasn't about to fly on a broom from England to Georgia.

He pulled out the letter from the inside pocket of his brown muggle blazer and read the name of the city again, just to make sure he was in the right place.

"Excuse me!" he yelled after a passing muggle. The man, who looked around twenty-five, stopped and turned to Rolf, lowering his sunglasses. "Excuse me, am I in the City of Batumi?" The muggle nodded. "Excellent, excellent... and how can I get to..." Rolf glanced down at the letter again. "The Adjara State Museum?"

The man gave some complicated instructions, spoken with a very thick accent, but seeing the confused expression on Rolf's face, ended up just directing him to the taxicabs and told him the street address. The wizard thanked him warmly and when he found himself a cab and sat comfortably in the back, he pulled out the letter again to re-read his colleague's words. What was so important that Luna couldn't just tell him in writing, and why did it necessitate him traveling halfway across the globe?

It wasn't long before the vehicle screeched to a halt in front of a square, white building. Rolf absentmindedly counted the amount of Georgian Lari the driver barked at him and got out of the car. He climbed the steps and entered the museum, looking around curiously, wandering through the empty entrance hall. Just as he was passing between two displays of ancient jewelry and pots, a low male voice rumbled in the silence.

Rolf jumped and turned around, only to come face to face with a tall, mustachioed security guard, who asked him something in Georgian.

"Erm... I'm here to see a Mr. Aleksandre Tsiklauri?" he said hesitantly. "My colleague, Miss Lovegood, said he would be expecting me."

He showed the letter to the guard, whose dark eyes scanned it quickly.

"Come," he said, and Rolf trailed behind him, as the tall man led him across the hall, up a flight of very impressive marble stairs and to a dark brown door, off one of the galleries. They stopped in front of it, and Rolf could hear laughter from inside.

The guard knocked on the door. "There is an Englishman here to see you," he said, opening it wide. Rolf stepped in timidly.

The office they were standing in was mostly empty, if you don't count two large wooden cabinets and a desk in the middle, on top of which a closed laptop took what space was not already covered by papers. Behind the desk was a man of maybe thirty, with black hair and square-rimmed glasses. He wore a smile on his face as he stood up to greet Rolf, but was preceded by the person sitting in a chair on the opposite side – a blonde witch, wearing silver, sparkling robes.

"Rolf, you made it!" Luna said happily. She stood up as well, and the silvery robes glinted in the sunlight, almost like a giant disco ball.

"Er, yes," the young Magizoologist replied. "Luna, what is this about?"

"Come, my boy, sit!" the man with the glasses said heartily, gesturing to the guard to leave them. "We shall tell you everything."

The door slammed behind him and Rolf approached, stuffing Luna's letter back in the inside pocket of his blazer.

"Now, Mr. Scamander," the bespectacled man began as Rolf sat down in the second chair, "have you heard of Jason and the Argonauts?"

The young wizard raised his eyebrows in surprise and threw a sideways look at Luna, who was beaming at him.

"I am familiar with the legend, yes," he said, keeping his eyes on her. "Is this about the Golden Rams again?"

"They're real, Rolf, I told you they are!" Luna exclaimed happily. "I was just looking for them in the wrong place!"

Rolf rolled his eyes and turned back to the man behind the desk. "Look, Mr. Tsiklauri, Luna has... a very active imagination. She's led me on expeditions to look for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and Blibbering Humdingers, none of which proved to be real. I assure you, winged, golden-fleeced rams do not exist."

"Have not proved to be real _yet_," Luna insisted. "And the Golden Rams _do _exist!"

Rolf opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by Mr. Tsiklauri. "Mr. Scamander, I believe this time your colleague's claims have been backed my some hints of proof." Rolf turned to him again. "You see," the man continued, leaning forward on his desk, "muggle archaeologists have recently made some interesting discoveries. What do you know of Medea?"

"Medea?" Rolf echoed, confused. "The witch in the Jason story? She was some sort of Princess that helped him get the Golden Fleece. Fell in love with him, or something. They get married and live happily ever after, right?"

"Ah, but that is only _one_ of the endings," Mr. Tsiklauri said cryptically. "The truth is rarely this clean."

"It's just a legend," Rolf reminded him. "A fairy tale for children. Jason and the _Argo_ didn't really exist, and there is no Golden Fleece."

"I told you he was like this," Luna called beside him airily.

"All is not what it seems in this word, Mr. Scamander," Mr. Tsiklauri said. "If you're willing to open your mind to the possibilities, I will tell you the true story of Medea and Jason."

Rolf's eyes darted between the man and Luna. The witch's large blue eyes sparkled with excitement, the way he'd seen them do when she was convinced an Augurey cry was a Nargle mating call, or when she thought for sure the Billywig manure she found was left by an Umgubular Slashkilter.

Were they about to tell him fire-breathing bulls and giant, moving mountains were real?

"What the hell," he sighed. "I love a good story."

"It is not a happy one," Mr. Tsiklauri said. "In fact, it's very tragic. Medea was indeed a Princess, the daughter of the King of Colchis. When Jason arrived there to claim the Golden Fleece, the King told him that he could only get it if he survived three impossible tasks. Medea, however, fell in love with the young hero and offered to help him, on the condition he would promise to take her with him once he obtained the Fleece and make her his wife. He, of course, agreed."

"He had to plough a field with fire-breathing oxen that he had to yoke himself," Rolf said, remembering the legend. "Medea gave him a balm to protect him from the fire."

"Yes," the bespectacled man nodded. "Then he had to fight an army of skeleton warriors and defeat a dragon. Medea helped him on both counts with her magic and wit. When they returned to Corinth, however, Jason abandoned Medea for the King's daughter, Glauce. Enraged and hurt, Medea killed her and fled back to her homeland of Colchis, where she killed her uncle, who ruled after her father's passing, and took a hold of the kingdom. They did not have the happy marriage the legend speaks of."

"Depends on who is telling the story," Rolf said dismissively.

"Ah, but history writes a story backed by evidence," Mr. Tsiklauri said. "And this particular ending _does_ have something supporting it."

He got up and walked to the big cabinet on the right wall, carefully taking something out. Moving the papers to the side, he placed a rectangular wooden box on the desk and lifted the lid. Rolf leaned in to see its contents – a ripped, burgundy-colored piece of cloth.

"What you see," Mr. Tsiklauri said, "is part of the poisoned dress Medea sent to Glauce in order to murder her. It was found at the bottom of the well she supposedly threw herself into in a fruitless attempt to wash away the poison. The carbon dating and the traces of a potion we found on the fabric matches the tale."

Rolf's eyes snapped up to meet his. "That's impossible."

"Oh, it is very possible," the man said quietly. "Medea was a real person, Mr. Scamander. The niece of Circe herself. She did live, albeit many years ago, and she did betray her father and her kingdom for a man who discarded her like a used tissue. And, according to various sources, when she returned to Colchis... she brought with her the Golden Fleece."

Rolf just stared at the man, completely thunderstruck.

"As you know," Mr. Tsiklauri continued, "Modern-day Georgia stands where Colchis once was."

"You think the Fleece is _here_?" Rolf interrupted.

"And if the Fleece is real, then the Golden Ram was real too!" Luna chirped.

"Just because Medea may have been real, it doesn't mean Flying Rams were!" Rolf snapped. "It was supposedly made by the Gods!"

"Medea herself was rumored to have been a granddaughter of Helios," the Georgian said. "And he supposedly gave her the golden chariot on which she escaped Corinth."

Rolf gaped at the man. This was lunacy! Greek Gods, Golden Rams, poisoned robes... there was no way this was real.

"Our government has given Miss Lovegood permission to lead an expedition into the Caucasus Mountains, where we believe Medea might have hidden the Fleece, so that no other adventurer could steal it like Jason did," Mr. Tsiklauri said, closing the box and returning it to the cabinet. "She has spoken highly of your academic achievements, and wishes for you to accompany her."

Rolf blushed at the praise and turned to Luna, who gave him a hopeful smile. This was madness. A giant waste of time. But when she looked at him like that, he was never able to refuse her anything (which was how he ended up on all those Crumple-Horned Snorkack hunts).

He sighed. "When do we leave?"

* * *

oOo

It had been two weeks since they set out into the mountains, and still they had nothing to show for it. Luna kept wandering seemingly without any direction, and Rolf just followed behind, the tents and all their provisions strapped to his back and enchanted with a Feather-light charm. His companion stopped from time to time to look at the flora and take notes, her dirigible plum earrings swaying with every tilt of her head. Rolf asked himself again and again why he kept going when it was clearly pointless, but Luna was so excited about the prospects of this expedition, he couldn't bring himself to crush that enthusiasm.

"We are completely lost," he said on the 16th day, when the two of them had to stop at the edge of a muck-filled bog.

"All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost," Luna recited serenely.

Rolf shot her a perplexed look. If it were anyone else he would question this, but with Luna you just sort of learn to take these things in stride. "So what now, then?" he said. "Do we go back?"

"We can't go back," Luna said. "The Fleece is on the other side."

"How could you _possibly_ know that?"

Luna simply shrugged. "The flower that follows the sun does so even in cloudy days. Come on, we should look for a way across."

Rolf sighed. He knew he couldn't talk her out of it, so he complied and walked by the edge, looking for bridge of some kind.

Luna stooped down and picked up a few pebbles, tossing them in the bog. "It doesn't seem too deep. Maybe we can just walk across?"

"Walk across?" Rolf repeated, unable to keep the disgust out of his voice, but before he could protest, Luna just waded in. "Luna, wait, there could be creatures in there!" he yelled after her.

"I don't think so. It's too muddy to sustain aquatic organisms," Luna replied without even slowing down.

Rolf grimaced at the thought, but took off the supplies and held them above his head as he walked in after her. It took about twenty minutes for him to make it to the other side, where Luna was already waiting, covered from chin to toe with grime, but completely undisturbed by it.

"How can you be sure it's in this particular direction?" he said, putting the supplies on the ground and looking down at his clothes. He was a good deal taller than she was, so the damage was only up to the middle of his chest.

"I'm _not_ sure," Luna replied. "I just have a feeling."

Rolf was about to press the issue, when he caught some sort of movement with the corner of his eye. Squinting, he leaned forward and tried to make out the form, which seemed to wave at him from a small island in the middle of the bog.

"Who the bloody hell is that?" he said. Luna turned to see what he was staring at.

"It looks like a woman," she said.

"Yoo-hoo! Hello there!" the figure yelled. "I seem to have gotten myself in a bit of a sticky situation. Think you can help me out?"

"Hello!" Luna yelled back and waved. "What can we do for you today?"

The woman on the island laughed. "You can help me out of this bog, for starters. I'm an entomologist and just collected some marvelous larvae samples. Thing is, my little boat here blew a fuse; the bog is too deep for me to walk through, and the water consistency would make swimming impossible. Your companion there seems like a strong fellow. Would he be willing to give me a hand?"

"Of course! He'll be right there!" Luna shouted, then turned to look at Rolf expectantly.

He held back his sigh. Even if he didn't want to help on his own, he knew he wouldn't be able to say no to Luna. Rolling up his sleeves, Rolf waded back into the stinky, muck-covered water. He reached the short black-haired woman on the island and helped her sit on his shoulders. The journey back to shore was difficult, but he made it.

"Thank you ever so much," the entomologist said, climbing down from his back. "I just don't know what I would've done without you. What brings you folks so deep into the mountains?"

"We are looking for a herd of flying rams and a fleece that is as yellow as gold. Have you seen it?" Luna said and Rolf almost facepalmed. Who just says something this outlandish to a stranger?

"I don't know about any yellow fleeces, but I did see a ram skitter by over in that direction." The woman pointed straight ahead. "I thought it was odd, Mountain Rams are usually found in North America."

Rolf and Luna both turned their heads in that direction.

"Thank you very—" he started to say, but when he turned back to the spot the woman stood only a second ago, she was gone. "Where did she go!?" he exclaimed, looking around frantically.

"I think she left," Luna said.

"No, I mean... was she a witch? Did she disapparate?"

Luna shrugged. "I didn't see. Come on, we have to find that ram." She took out her wand and cleaned both of them with a single wave, then continued into the forest, not even bothering to look over her shoulder to make sure he was coming. Though why would she need to? No matter how crazy her ideas were, he always did.

Rolf picked the luggage up hastily and followed. Luna just seemed to _know_ where they needed to go, because she walked without hesitation and he had to jog to keep up. It wasn't too long before she gave out an excited shriek and broke into a run. Rolf tried to catch up, but it was hard with the provisions swaying from his shoulders and catching on the foliage. After a few minutes of a mad dash through the wilderness, they came across a clearing.

Rolf was stunned into a stupor.

About forty sheep were flying above them, their large, yellow wings glinting in the sunlight. Some were grazing in the grass, and there was Luna, right in the middle of the clearing. She pulled something out of the small fanny pack around her waist and offered it to the sheep. They approached her without fear and ate whatever she tempted them with right from her palm. A shadow passed over Rolf, and when he looked up, he could see a golden spot up in the highest tree.

"I can't believe this..." he muttered under his breath. It was real. It was all real.

"I told you they existed!" Luna yelled happily, once again drawing his attention.

"But how..." he said, dropping the supplies and taking a few steps forward. "How did you know they were here?"

"I didn't," Luna replied, as the rams huddled around her. "I told you, I just had a feeling. The legend said the Golden Fleece could make any land prosper and any soil fertile. On the way here we kept encountering blooming Rhododendron Caucasicum and other plants that only bloom in the winter, or once a year. I figured it might've been because of the Fleece's magic."

"The flower that follows the sun does so even in cloudy days," Rolf whispered.

"I knew if anyone would believe me and come on this expedition, it would be you." Luna continued gratefully. "We did it, Rolf! We found the Golden Rams!"

She laughed and the sound echoed in the meadow like a copper bell. Rolf looked at her, happy and smiling, surrounded by all these furry yellow creatures, the sun catching in her hair, and a thought suddenly occurred to him.

He was in love.


	15. May to December

**For Eric. Happy Christmas! I hope this is sappy enough for you :)**

**~oOo~**

* * *

**May 2002**

"Susan."

The young woman looked up from the papers at the sound of her name. Two men had just walked into her tiny one-window office. The one who had called her was her boss, Mr. McKay, and the other was a young, tall wizard who she had never met before.

"Yes, Boss?" Susan said, rising to her feet.

"Meet Paul Weir. He'll be your new partner."

Her eyes wandered to the stranger. Weir was a dark-haired lad, not much older than she was. He wore square-rimmed glasses and a dark blue pullover, which went very nicely with his coffee-colored hair and warm, green eyes. He gave Susan a small smile, and she squeezed her way between the two desks that barely fit in the room, one of which had been empty for the last seven months, to greet him.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Weir," she said, extending her palm for a handshake. "My name is Susan Bones, and I've been working in the Magical Law Office for nearly a year now—"

"Straight from Hogwarts," the young wizard interrupted, taking her hand in his, the smile still playing on his lips. "Yes, Mr. McKay told me all about it. You were offered a position in the Auror Office for fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts. To tell you the truth, I sometimes wish I were born a little later just so I could have fought that night. Don't get me wrong, I know how scary it must have been to stay and defend the school when the odds of death were that high, but it was doing _something_. The fight here at the Ministry was almost non-existent. It was amazing, what you did; I really admire you for it." Susan just stared at him at a loss for words. "And please, call me Paul. We are going to be partners, after all."

She nodded, a slight smile beginning to bloom on her face in response to his. And then she realized she was still holding his hand. Susan let go hastily and took a step back. "Ah, yes, of course. Paul. And you can call me Susan then. I assume this partnership begins right now?" she added to Mr. McKay.

"Yes, effective immediately," the boss said. "You can bring him up to speed on the Bulstrode Inheritance Case."

"Sure thing." Susan reached down her jeans pocket for her wand and silently summoned a thick folder perched on the other end of her cluttered desk. Then she looked around the cramped room and hesitated. They wouldn't both fit behind the desk.

"I don't think there's enough space here for the two of us to sit," Paul threw in lightly. "I've heard that muggle cafés are actually bigger than a shoebox. Care to join me?"

Susan just stared at him in surprise while Mr. McKay let out a loud, bombastic laugh and clapped Paul on the shoulder. "I see the two of you will get along splendidly," he said, exiting the room. "The trial is in one month. Don't let me down!"

"Well, that didn't add pressure at all," Paul quipped. "Shall we?" he added towards Susan, holding the door open for her.

She shook her head slightly to gather her wits, then nodded and, clutching the folder to her chest, walked out briskly.

* * *

**Two days later**

"So?" Hannah prompted, pouring ginger tea in Susan's cup. "Is he cute?"

"I don't see how that matters," Susan replied evasively, trying to fight the heat rising to her face. "He is efficient and very smart. A Ravenclaw back at Hogwarts."

Hannah pouted. "Aw, come on! Tell me the good bits! Is he handsome? Tall? With a charming smile?"

Susan rolled her eyes, raising the steaming cup to her lips. "He's just my coworker. I couldn't date him even if I wanted to."

"Says who?" her friend huffed. "Plenty of Ministry workers date."

"I meant that it wouldn't be professional," Susan clarified. "We're not just working in the same Department; we're in the same _office_."

"Oh, big deal," Hannah waved dismissively. "Now tell me, on a scale from Crabbe to Diggory, how hot is he?"

Susan sighed and shook her head, but the corner of her mouth curved up.

* * *

**June 2002**

"Knock knock."

Susan looked up from her desk and smiled, standing up to greet her old friend. "Ernie! What are you doing here?"

"Can't I come and visit a good friend?" Ernie quipped as her arms enveloped his neck. "Just came by to see how you're doing," he added when she let go. "And to bring you these." His right hand moved from behind his back and presented her with a beautiful bouquet of gladioli. "They say," he started in that formal, almost pompous way of his, "that flowers carry different meanings. The Gladiolus flower signifies _remembrance__, _and symbolizes strength of character, faithfulness and honor. For a brave and knowledgeable woman such as your Aunt, they are the perfect choice, if I do say so myself."

He beamed at her proudly, as if he expected to be complemented for his excellent flower arranging. But as her eyes wandered down to the blossoms, Susan felt her heart sink. She had forgotten that today was the anniversary of her Aunt's death.

A voice from behind Ernie snapped her back to reality.

"Should I come back later or...?"

The two former classmates turned around, only to come face to face with Paul, carrying a load of papers in his hands.

"No need for that, mate," Ernie said. "I was just stopping by. It is a work day, after all." He leaned in and gave Susan a swift kiss on the cheek. "See you later, Sue." And with a slight tip of the hat in Paul's direction, he left the office.

"Er... sorry if I interrupted an intimate moment with your boyfriend," Paul said awkwardly, walking in and closing the door behind him.

"Ernie is just a friend," Susan clarified, sitting back behind her desk. She saw Paul raise an eyebrow and his eyes lingered first on her cheek, then on the flowers in her hands. "A close friend," she amended. "Today is the anniversary of my Aunt's murder and he—"

"He thought that bringing you flowers that will remind you of the fact all day would make you feel better," Paul finished for her.

She gave him a small, sad smile. "He means well."

Paul was silent for a moment. "Your Aunt was Amelia Bones, wasn't she?"

Susan looked up in surprise. "Yes. How did you know?"

He smiled sadly. "Because she was killed a year ago today." Her brow wrinkled in confusion. Paul sighed and sank in his chair. "You probably don't know this, but my father passed away a few years ago, and my mother is muggle-born. She was... one of the first to be prosecuted last year when the Ministry began their crusade for 'pure blood'. Your aunt was present during the case. She stood up for my mother, declaring that the notion of muggle-borns stealing magic was ridiculous, and even went so far as to say she would duel anyone who imprisoned an innocent witch on such preposterous grounds. My mother was let go, but... Madam Bones was found dead the following morning."

Susan stared at her partner, eyes wide, barely comprehending his words. Paul looked up to meet her gaze and held it determinately.

"It's only thanks to your aunt that I'm not an orphan. I owe her more than I could possibly say." He reached inside the breast pocket of his blazer and took out a cutout from the Daily Prophet. It was a random interview with her answering questions as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Amelia Bones will live forever, because I will never forget what she did for me and my mother," Paul said, looking at the piece of paper thoughtfully, then held it up to her. "Don't' remember how she died. Remember how she lived."

Susan took the article and slowly caressed her Aunt's moving image. She closed her eyes and inhaled, and for a second, she thought she could smell her Aunt's favorite perfume. A small smile bloomed on her face.

"Now, let's get to work, shall we?" Paul said cheerily, sitting back down. "We have a new case. Our first murder trial! Care to see the Auror report?"

"Yeah," Susan said, tucking the paper inside her bag. "Let's start with that."

* * *

**October 2002**

"Oh, Paul," Susan said as her rain-soaked partner walked into the crammed office from his lunch break, barely looking up from her work. "An owl came for you while you were out."

Paul hanged his coat and turned to her to take the envelope she held out for him. "Probably from my grandparents again," he said, breaking the seal. "They keep nagging me to write more... often..." His face paled and the letter slipped from his stiff fingers.

"Paul?" Susan said worriedly, standing up. "Are you—"

The young wizard sank to his knees and scrambled for the parchment. Re-reading it frantically again and again, he grew progressively pale and his fingers unwittingly crumpled the letter.

"Paul?" Susan repeated softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I... I'm going to..." Paul licked his dry lips. "I'm going to be an uncle!" His wide green eyes met hers, and his face spilled into a dizzy smile.

Susan blinked at him in confusion. "Huh?"

"My brother is going to have a baby!" Paul yelled merrily and swept her in his arms, twirling her around in his joy. Her shoe caught on the rubbish bin and sent crumpled up papers and other junk flying everywhere. "I can't believe it!" he exclaimed once they came to a full stop. "The healers were sure Daria couldn't conceive! They want me to be the godfather!"

Susan beamed at him. His happiness was contagious. "That's great! Congratulations!"

At that moment the door swung open, and one of their coworkers, Meredith Henshaw, stood in its frame. Her curious brown eyes darted to Susan's disheveled hair, to the way Paul's hand still rested on her waist, to their large smiles, shining eyes and papers strewn all over the room.

"Er... I got those reports from the Department of Intoxicating Substances... but I see you're busy. I'll come back later," Meredith said, blushing furiously and leaving the room as fast as she could, slamming the door behind her.

Susan's eyes wandered to Paul's, and heat rushed to her face when she realized what compromising position they were in.

Her gaze dropped to the ground. "Er, I better go after her... we really need those reports," she said and slipped from his grip. Fixing her hair as she went, she made it to the door in a single stride and ran after Meredith, her heart beating against her chest like a trapped animal.

* * *

**December 2002**

Paul sighed deeply and buried his face in his hands. "We are _never_ going to win this. It's impossible."

"Just keep looking," Susan replied tiredly, though she was inclined to agree. "There must be something."

"There isn't," Paul groaned. "It's an airtight case. She was holding a wand to his throat!"

"She claims she's innocent," Susan reminded him.

"And you believe her? All evidence points to the opposite! We can't take this to court."

"I do believe her," Susan insisted. "Now come on, we still have time. They're postponing the trial until after the holidays; we'll come up with something."

Paul sighed again.

Suddenly, the door opened wide, and a smiling Mr. McKay entered their cramped office. "How is my power duo? Great job on the Cornhill case!"

"Thanks, Boss," Susan said; all Paul could do was force a smile.

"It seems I was right to team you up! I know you two don't need it, but the whole Department is going on a paid vacation to the _Cairngorm __Ski Resort_. Team building, you know the drill." And in one fluid movement, Mr. McKay pulled out two envelopes and slapped them to Susan's desk. "Two weeks. Heathrow Airport." He winked to them and left the small office.

Paul groaned audibly again and slummed over his papers. "An Office holiday? Just what we needed."

"It'll be okay," Susan said, reaching for the envelopes. "We'll just have to find some time to work in-between skiing sessions."

The corners of Paul's mouth twitched upwards. "You never give up, do you?"

Susan smiled at him over the papers. "If I gave up on Mrs. Devereaux too, who won't?"

"That's assuming she really is innocent."

"She is," Susan insisted. "I just know it!"

Paul raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You just 'know' it?"

"Fine then, don't believe me!" Susan snapped. "I can do this on my own!"

Paul laughed. "No need to get so flippant; you know I wouldn't leave you to face this alone. But alright, if you say she's innocent – then she is. We just need to find a hole in these testimonies. Although..." His eyes wandered to the sun-shaped clock he had hanging on the wall next to the door. "It's getting late." Paul stood up and reached for his jacket. "Coffee?"

Susan almost laughed. She had expected him to say they should pick this up tomorrow. "Two sugars."

* * *

**A week later**

Susan adjusted her goggles nervously. The lift kept bringing her higher and higher, the sight of the snow-covered treetops below making her stomach flip.

"Are you doing alright?" a soft voice came from her left. "You don't look so good."

Susan turned slightly to give Paul a small smile, though it looked more like a grimace. "I'm fine," she said, her eyes wandering down again.

"For someone who works in law, you have a terrible poker face," Paul quipped beside her.

Susan rolled her eyes. "My poker face is better when I'm not forty feet above ground."

He huffed a laugh and nudged her with his shoulder. "You really need to loosen up, Bones. All that stuffy air in the office has shriveled up your brain."

"Maybe if you picked up the slack, I wouldn't have to spend so much time in the office in the first place," Susan shot back.

"Or maybe you ought to stop overworking yourself," Paul said.

"We're supposed to have a ready defense in a week!" Susan exclaimed indignantly. "As if this forced vacation isn't eating up our time enough as it is!"

Paul sighed. "Then you could have at least called me last night. I would have cancelled on my brother and helped you get it done."

Susan looked down at her lap. "He was in London only for the day. I didn't want you to miss out on seeing him."

"And I didn't want to find you half-dead from exhaustion in the morning!" he countered. "We are partners in this case; you should have let me help you."

She said nothing. He had a point, but how could she selfishly tell him to neglect his family and stay behind with her to sift through one dry legal document after the next? The Devereaux folder was quite thick and had been assigned to them last minute, after the original team had a dispute over it and one of the lawyers ended up cursing the other to only speak in gibberish for three weeks. Both were suspended, and the case handed over to Susan and Paul.

When the lift finally descended, the two young lawyers found most of the Magical Law Office waiting for them near the ridge.

"Alright, people, dinner is served at seven, so make sure your arses are in those chairs, we pre-paid for everything!" Mr. McKay shouted over everyone's heads. A few chuckles were heard from the crowd. "Until then, go nuts!"

Susan watched apprehensively as most of her colleagues headed to the intermediate course. The truth was that she'd only gone skiing exactly once before, when she was nine. The experience ended with her right leg in a cast.

"You _sure_ you're okay?" Paul asked, bringing her back to reality.

"Of course," Susan replied quickly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you were looking at the slopes as if Death Eaters are about to pop out of the snow and curse you."

She couldn't help a small chuckle at that. "Ah, then I'll outsmart them and start at the beginner's slopes. That way they'll die of hypothermia."

Paul laughed heartily. "And draw them towards the children? Have you no sense of decency?"

Susan laughed at that but still rolled her eyes and waddled to the beginner's queue.

"Wait, you're really going for the beginner's slopes?" Paul asked from her right, quickly catching up to her.

"I'm not..." She paused, wondering to what degree telling him would embarrass her. "I'm not a very good skier."

To her surprise, his mouth stretched into a grin. "You're in luck then, because I'm an _excellent_ one. I'll show you the ropes, _if_ you promise to let me do the heavy lifting tonight."

Susan's eyebrow rose. "Define 'heavy lifting'."

But before he could reply, a hurricane of ginger curls bumped into him, almost knocking him to the ground.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm an awful— Ah, Paul! Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's alright, Amanda," Paul reassured the short, blue-clad witch and helped her regain balance.

"You're on the beginner's slopes too?" Amanda said, her big, green eyes staring at him innocently. "What a coincidence!"

Susan almost laughed derisively. Everyone in the office knew Amanda had been trying to get Paul's attention for weeks. She wondered briefly if the other witch was faking her inability to ski.

"You know what?" Susan said irritably. "I think I'll go to the Intermediate slopes. If Charlie Doherty sees me on the kiddie slopes I'll never hear the end of it."

"What? Susan, wait—"

"That leaves the two of us, then!" Amanda chirped happily, hanging from Paul's arm like a limpet.

Susan couldn't keep herself from rolling her eyes. "Yes, have fun. Just be sure to go over the Gruber testimony, will you?" Then she determinately headed to the Intermediate slopes, irrationally irritated.

She was just preparing to take the leap when doubt began to creep in. She wasn't a great skier. Maybe doing this wasn't such a good idea.

"Susan!"

Paul's voice ignited a spark inside the former Hufflepuff, and she propelled herself forward, all doubts momentarily forgotten. The wind whooshed in her ears and whipped her long hair back as she glided over the white hill, rather stunned that she was able to keep her balance. As long as she didn't think too hard about it, muscle memory took over and it was as easy as riding a broom. Noticing that thinking of her angle made her lean to the side dangerously, Susan let her mind roam and prod at the Devereaux case.

The crime happened while a young married couple, the Devereaux spouses, was on vacation in the Swiss Alps, along with the woman's sister. They ran into Mrs. Devereaux's boss, and a day later he was found in his room, with Mrs. Devereaux standing over him, her wand in her hand. After a _Prior Incantat__o, _it was determined that it was indeed the murder weapon. Mrs. Devereaux's husband, Mr. Devereaux, and her sister, Miss Mulligan, had been off skiing while she had spent the entire day in the resort's spa center. Everything seemed to point to Mrs. Devereaux, from the murder weapon to the fact that the victim was about to pass her up for a promotion. A motive, opportunity, witness accounts, it was all there, and all seemed to scream _GUILTY_.

Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted when a blue-white blur whizzed past her, and she recognized Paul's back.

"You're slower than a Firecrab in mud!" he yelled over his shoulder, exploding in laughter.

Susan felt her face heat up. "Keep laughing and you'll swallow a billywig!"

Paul laughed even harder at that and made a sharp swerve, sending a barrage of snow flying at Susan. Some of it hit her in the face, but she didn't lose her balance. _Oh, so that's how he wants to play it?_ she thought, raising her ski poles and propelling herself forward with all the strength she could muster. The world flew by her as she gathered up speed and soon passed her partner, leaving him to gape after her. The face he pulled was beyond hilarious, but she forced herself not to think about it and lose focus.

In mere minutes, the end of the slope rose before her from the horizon, and Susan realized in panic that she couldn't slow down. She tried to twist her body carefully enough to slow her descent, but something when wrong and she tumbled to the bottom of the slope in a flailing mess of limbs and skis.

"Ow," she muttered, sputtering a bit of snow. Her whole body felt a bit sore, but other than that, the soft snow had insured she didn't sustain any serious injuries.

It hadn't even been a minute before someone gracefully came to a stop beside her. "You okay, Bones?" Paul asked playfully.

"Shut up," Susan grumbled, spitting out a bit of snow.

Paul laughed again and bent down, offering her a hand. "I though you said you weren't very good."

"Passed you, didn't I?" she replied defiantly, standing up with his help.

A mischievous glint shone in the young wizard's eyes, and he grinned. "Two out of three then. Whoever wins gets to do the research tonight; the loser has to bring them coffee. Deal? Unless that was... Beginner's Luck?"

The smart thing probably would have been to decline, seeing as that was exactly what it was, but Susan felt defiance spark in her at that comment – it was a phrase people at Hogwarts often liked to use when it came to Hufflepuff. Hufflepuffs didn't win. They either lucked out, won by a technicality or someone took pity on them. Even if they do end up getting better marks than a Ravenclaw, what did it matter? It's just because they spent longer working, people said, not because they're actually smart.

So Susan puffed up her chest and said, "You're on."

* * *

Several hours and many bruises later, Paul helped the limping witch down the hallway to her room.

"You should have given up after the tenth try," he said while she turned the key. "It was an unfair challenge, and we both knew it."

"If you knew it, why did you challenge me?" Susan asked irritably, detaching her arm from his shoulder and swinging the door open, leaning on the frame for support.

"_Because you need a break_," he emphasized, stopping in the hall to take off his shoes. "And since you wouldn't take it willingly, I had to find a way to make you."

"Yeah sure," Susan said dryly, taking off her hat. "The folder is on the de—" The hat fell to the floor as Susan stared at herself in the mirror, a look of complete and utter shock written on her face.

"Susan?" Paul asked from the hallway, but ran to her hastily when she gave no reply. He looked at her, then at the mirror. "Sue, what are you looking at? Are you okay?"

"I'm tan," Susan said, still stupefied.

"...Yes?" Paul started carefully. "So am I. We were skiing in the sun. Everyone gets a tan."

Her head snapped in his direction. "Not Mr. Devereaux." Before Paul had the chance to ask, Susan reached down her snowsuit for her wand and summoned a piece of paper from her desk.

When she shoved it right in his face, Paul's eyes widened to the size of tea plates. The paper was a photo of Mr. Devereaux, right after the scene of the crime. His face was an even, cream color.

Paul and Susan exchanged glances, then both rushed to the desk and fervently rummaged around the papers for pictures of the suspect.

"Look at him! He's like this on every picture," Susan said, her eyes darting from one photo to the next. "This was taken right after the Aurors arrived." She pointed to the leftmost one. "This on the day of the hearing. And these four are from their vacation. He's not tan in any of them!"

"And look at Mrs. Devereaux!" Paul picked up a recent picture of their client, matching it to one of the vacation photos. "It's subtle, but she's definitely tanner on the left."

Susan looked up from the pictures and turned to face her partner. "You know what this means, right?"

Paul nodded. "He has no alibi. But what about the sister?"

"An accomplice!" Susan exclaimed, digging for pictures of Miss Mulligan. "She claimed she was with him, and they were seen together _at the hotel_, but not on the slopes! Look, she isn't tan either!"

Paul looked at her, his eyes sparkling. "Then we have a case! They can't hold her if there's a reasonable doubt, and faking an alibi definitely falls under that! She might be innocent! _We can win this!_"

Susan gave out an excited shriek and threw her arms around his neck, causing him to stagger backwards a bit. His hands didn't even hesitate in wrapping around her tightly and holding her close. When the rush was gone, Susan's heart began to echo in her ears, as she realized he wasn't letting go. His embrace was warm and he smelled faintly of lemon aftershave.

"Paul?" she whispered.

"Wait," he replied in the same muted voice, his arm tightening slightly.

"Wait for what?"

He swallowed thickly. "I'm trying to gather courage. So far it's not going very well."

A warm spark ran through Susan's body. "Why do you need courage?"

"I, ah... I was going to kiss you when you let go. But the more I think about it, the more scared I am you'll slap me. So I think I'll just stay like this for a while."

Susan's whole body petrified. Did she want him to kiss her? Her pulse quickened at the thought. "Let me know when you're ready," she whispered against the skin of his neck and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

They staid like that for a few minutes, until she felt him take in a deep breath and loosen his grip. Susan's stomach twisted into knots, but she slowly let go of him and drew back a little.

"Ready now?" she asked.

His expression softened and he shook in silent laughter. "I'm actually beginning to wonder what took me so long," he said and gently pressed his lips to hers.


	16. Humans Are Strange Creatures

**Written for the Quidditch League, Chaser 3 for the ****Caerphilly Catapults, round 4.**

**Task: **Write from the point of view of a Thestral

**Prompts**:

**3\. **(dialogue) "You know, I don't really need you."

**7\. **(image) webneel wallpaper/sites/default/files/images/04-2013/snowy-mountain-wallpaper.

**13\. **(dialogue) "I'll survive. I always do."

**Word count**: 2 304

* * *

**1992**

The forest was dark and scary. The little thestral gave out another desperate, loud shriek, but no one answered it. A lizard darted through the underbrush, startling the creature, and it set off again. When it stopped to catch its breath, the foal looked around, searching for any traces of its herd. The trees were thinner in this part of the forest, and the grass below its hooves was flatter somehow, more dry.

"Hello there," a quiet voice broke through the silence.

The thestral spun around, nearly in panic, and found the owner of the voice peeking out from behind a thick tree trunk. It was a human with a long blonde mane and big, blue eyes. The foal eyed it with a mixture of fear and mistrust and took a few hesitant steps back. "Don't be afraid," the human girl said softly, leaving her hiding spot. She approached slowly, holding one hand in the air with the palm turned up. The thestral shuffled back on its wobbly legs, keeping the distance between them. The girl stopped, then bent her knees slightly, her hand still stretched out.

"I won't hurt you," she said. "Did you get separated from your mother? I did too. She went away a few years ago, but it's thanks to her than I can see you." She smiled slightly. "So you see, we have that in common, you and I. And we're both lost, too."

Even if the little thestral couldn't quite understand everything the human said, there was still a certain sincerity that rang in her voice. Her tone was soothing and gentle, and it somehow innately felt like it could trust her. Taking a few hesitant steps forward, it drew closer. The girl stood as she was, not advancing but not backing away either—she simply smiled welcomingly. With its steps becoming more sure, the foal finally reached her and sniffed the outstretched hand curiously. Very slowly, the girl's palm reached for its head and caressed its side. The gesture was comforting, coaxing a soft whinny out of the creature. The human knelt down to match its eye level, continuing to pet it.

"My name is Luna, by the way," she said. "I'm a student at Hogwarts. But you're gonna need a name too. What should I call you…" Luna paused thoughtfully, and the thestral came even closer, completely comfortable with her now. "Oh, I know! How about Neeheeoeewootis?"

The foal whinnied disapprovingly and shook its head. That did not sound right.

"No? What would you like better, then? Beathag? Paciencia?" Another shake. "You are so picky!" Luna scolded gently. "You ought to have a fancy name, like Tibault or Isaiah."

The foal tilted its head in interest.

"Isaiah? Is that the one you like?"

It didn't know the meaning, but the word sounded nice.

"All right, Isaiah it is. How very nice to meet you." Luna took one of its hooves in her hand and shook it up and down. Isaiah simply blinked at her curiously. Humans were strange creatures.

* * *

**1995**

It was a good thing that thestrals could not feel cold, but Isaiah knew that humans did and wasn't happy with the state Luna was in. When she'd appeared to see him that morning, he hadn't failed to notice that she was missing her usual bronze and blue scarf, as well as those strange pink-and-green things she put on her hands to keep them warm.

"Oh, it's all right," she had assured him when he tugged at the collar of her robes to indicate his question. "My dorm mates take my things sometimes, but they always turn up."

Isaiah whinnied in displeasure, his hoof beating against the snow-covered ground.

"It's not that cold outside," Luna told him, smiling slightly. "It's nothing to worry about; I don't even need a scarf right now." Isaiah bent his head and nudged her cold, frigid fingers. She smiled at him softly. "I'll survive. I always do." That didn't make what the other human girls were doing to her all right, but Isaiah knew he couldn't change her mind.

Footsteps crunched against the snow, and the thestral turned around, spreading its black, bat-like wings protectively, trying to shield Luna from the danger. The intruder was another human, maybe about her size. His black mane was messy and stuck out in all directions, and he wore the same black robes.

"Hello, Harry Potter," Luna said behind him, peeking under his wings.

"Luna," the other human said, notes of surprise ringing in his voice. "What are you doing out here?"

"I'm visiting a friend," she said, stepping around the thestral. "Isaiah, this is Harry. Harry – Isaiah."

Isaiah eyed the new person wearily and watched him approach as Luna caressed his neck to calm him.

"I'm… I'm visiting a friend too," the male human said, gesturing behind them. Over the bubbling creek, one could just make out the smoke rising from Hagrid's hut at the edge of the forest. So this one knew Hagrid as well?

Luna seemed to have the same thought, because she too turned to look at the groundskeeper's house. "Hagrid lives over there," she said, pointing over the snowy landscape.

"I—I know," Harry replied. "I just… needed to clear my head." He looked up at Isaiah. "So what… what are these?"

Luna turned her eyes to him once again. "They're called thestrals," she explained. "They're quite gentle, really... But people avoid them because they're a bit..."

"Different," Harry finished. "But why can't the others see them?"

"They can only be seen by people who've seen death." Luna reached into her bag and fished out a piece of red meat. Isaiah's attention immediately snapped to the fresh, delicious smell, and as soon as she lifted her palm, he gobbled it up hungrily. "I believe you, by the way. That He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, and you fought him, and the Ministry and the _Prophet _are conspiring against you and Dumbledore."

"Thanks," Harry said, keeping his gaze on Isaiah. The thestral turned towards him curiously. Did he have treats too? The boy added, "Seems you're about the only one that does."

"I don't think that's true," Luna continued, "But I suppose that's how he wants you to feel."

"What do you mean?"

"Well if I were You-Know-Who, I'd want you to feel cut off from everyone else. Because if it's just you alone you're not as much of a threat. Take Isaiah for example." Luna looked up to him once more and gave him a smile, patting his muzzle. "There's a reason thestrals have an XXXX danger rating by the Ministry. Though they are docile for the most part, they are very intelligent and can easily discern friend from foe. If you gave him a reason to, Isaiah could crush your skull without much effort."

Her tone was easy and conversational, but Harry still looked startled, and Isaiah could tell he was itching to step back.

"Still, he is by himself, and if your friends came to fight with you, he would be easily subdued. He is technically stronger than all of you, but it's not just about numbers."

Isaiah licked her hand, where the taste of raw meat still lingered, requesting more. She reached into her bag absentmindedly and held up another piece.

Harry stared at him thoughtfully. "But that's different. Voldemort isn't fighting me physically."

"It's not just about that, either," Luna replied. "Not all battles are fought in the open. If you feel deserted, your very will to fight is drained. That's how friends help you – not with spells or weapons, but just by being there. Letting you know you're not alone." She looked to Isaiah again and ran her fingers through his thick, black mane. "That's why you should make friends with thestrals. They're extremely loyal, you know."

Harry said nothing and just looked at them silently. Isaiah wondered what he was thinking about, and whether or not he was trustworthy. Luna seemed to like him, and Hagrid let him into his hut, but Isaiah had yet to decide if this new human was safe to let Luna be around.

* * *

**1996**

The ground shook from the thunderous galloping of the centaur herd, and their shrieks filled the warm summer air. Isaiah turned his head in the general direction, mildly interested in what all the commotion was for. Something had been moving about in the woods for the last couple of hours, but none of it concerned him, so he had mostly ignored it. Suddenly, the breeze carried a wonderful smell and his nostrils flared, trying to suck it in. It was an odd aroma, definitely appetizing, but unfamiliar at the same time. Following his nose, Isaiah traipsed through the forest, looking for its source.

Soon he came upon a clearing, and there he saw Harry, the messy-maned friend of Luna's. He was covered in red blood, though obviously not his, and was talking to another girl Isaiah had never seen before. Her presence made him hesitate, and he held back, listening to their urgent whispers. Not long after he felt movement from behind, but relaxed when he recognized the silvery eyes of another thestral. The humans argued some more, and before long more of them came to the clearing. Recognizing Luna between them, Isaiah almost left his spot, but just as he was about to, she noticed him and gave him a small wave. He decided it would be better for the humans if she introduced him first – most were a bit frightened by him for some reason.

When she did, Harry finally noticed him and approached, patting his neck. Isaiah wasn't paying much attention to what they were saying, distracted by the delicious smell of blood. As they kept discussing human matters, he bent down and tried to lick some of it off Harry's sleeve. How _had_ he gotten covered in blood? Isaiah had never actually tasted human blood, but he had smelled it, and this definitely wasn't it. His eyes lifted from the sleeve and inspected the humans more carefully. They all seemed a bit banged up, mild injuries and bruises showing on their bare skin. Isaiah wasn't happy about it, but at least Luna seemed mostly okay. He started listening more carefully as soon more of his brethren found them, probably attracted by the smell.

The humans were talking about rescuing someone, and Luna was adamant about going. Harry was saying that it was too dangerous, and Isaiah wanted to agree, though he didn't know what they were talking about. They wanted to go somewhere, he gathered that much, and they needed to get there fast. Isaiah had carried Luna on his back before, but this time Harry climbed on his back before any of the others had even started moving. Isaiah let him, though he still wasn't sure about helping.

The rest of the herd, seeing that he let the human leader mount him, went along with it as well. One of the humans, a male with long limbs and red hair, looked like he was about to have a nervous breakdown. "This is mad," he said faintly, moving his free hand gingerly up and down his horse's neck. "Mad." Then, as Luna helped the other clueless humans onto the other thestrals, his mount turned to look at him, trying to ease the human's shaking. The redhead didn't look very assured. "You know, I don't really need you," he said nervously. "I can fly on my broomstick. Or I'll hunt down a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, at least that I'll be able to _see_."

"Your broomstick isn't as fast," Luna chimed in airily. "You'll fall behind. And for the last time, Crumple-Horned Snorkacks can't fly." She climbed on the back of her own horse, and with that they all seemed ready to go.

Harry wound his hands into Isaiah's slick mane and said, rather uncertainly, "Ministry of Magic, visitors' entrance, London, then. Er… if you know… where to go…"

Isaiah blinked calmly at him. Humans were odd, and if what he'd heard from Luna was true, they could be quite cruel. Still, she was a very gentle soul, and if she was so adamant about helping Harry… then he couldn't be all that bad. Plus… Isaiah hadn't forgotten how Harry himself wanted to keep her out of danger.

Spreading his wings and bending down to gather momentum, the thestral shot himself into the air, shortly followed by the others. He soared through the sky, letting his natural intuition guide him and enjoying the wind in his mane. Unlike his first flight with Luna, Isaiah didn't hold himself back and glided on at full speed, knowing that for the humans time was of the essence. The journey lasted a couple of hours, as the last rays of the sun disappeared and twilight turned into night. The dots of light shining from below helped Isaiah pinpoint a safe location for landing, and he touched the ground as softly as ever. Harry still seemed a bit shaken though, even if the thestral had thought he handled himself all right. For a human.

They all dismounted, some more gracefully than others. Harry gave Isaiah a grateful pat and led his friends into an odd metal box. Luna traced a caress along the horse's body as she passed, then squished into the box, giving him one last wave before the thing took them underground. Harry too threw a look towards the thestrals to make sure they would be fine, and his eyes locked with Isaiah. The thestral gave him a very slight nod. He wasn't sure the human saw it, but it wasn't really all that important, because through that one look they had reached an agreement: he would make sure the thestrals stayed out of trouble, and Harry would look after the humans.

Yes, Isaiah decided as he watched them disappear from sight. This Harry person was alright. Wherever they were going, he trusted him to take care of Luna.


	17. Never Going Back

**Drabble Club:** "I don't want greatness!"

**Quidditch Pitch: ** "Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings." by Salvador Dali

**Task:** **CHASER 3: **Write about a light character committing the sin of WRATH

· (quote) 'I have always known who you really are, and that's why I love you.' - Belle, _Once Upon A Time_

· (setting) number 12, Grimmauld Place

· (word) therapy

* * *

-oOo-

_Hey, hey mama, said the way you move, gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove._

The piercing guitar riff mostly drowned out the insistent knocking on the door. Sirius smirked, purposefully ignoring the would-be intruder, and took a step back to admire his handiwork. The scantily-clad babes on the posters didn't move, but they still contained a certain charm.

"Master Sirius," came a scratchy voice from behind, and the young wizard frowned in irritation, though he didn't bother acknowledging the house-elf. He really ought to start locking his door; apparently the Muggle music wasn't enough to keep annoyances out anymore. "Mistress wishes for you to come down for dinner," Kreacher continued, trying to out-yell Led Zeppelin.

"You can tell that old hag that I'm not hungry," Sirius replied nonchalantly, performing the well-trained Permanent Sticking Charm on his new posters. Let her try to take them down now.

"Mistress insists," Kreacher shouted over the drumbeats.

With a frustrated sigh, Sirius walked over to his cassette player and pressed the stop button. "Fine. I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Mistress wishes for young Master to put on his new clothes," Kreacher said, bowing deeply as he backed away. "Mistress has guests tonight." Then he muttered under his breath, "Good-for-nothing blood-traitor, breaking my Mistress' heart and dragging the Black family name through the mud…"

"I got it!" Sirius exclaimed irritably, slamming the door in the servant's face. He really, really hated that racist, two-faced, grovelling house-elf. At least his parents were honest about their disdain, instead of playing polite and heaping praise upon him only to viciously slander him as soon as they thought no one could hear.

Running a hand through his black locks with a sigh, Sirius threw a look at the disorganized mess that was his room. A spark of pride flared up in his chest at the sight of the Gryffindor flag above his bed, which, along with the motorbike pictures and other muggle paraphernalia, had survived his mother's cleansing while he was at school, all thanks to his amazing proficiency at Charms, of course. Now the room looked less like a depressing prison and a bit more like his dormitory at Hogwarts, his real home. The one place where he was accepted for who he was and where he found friends who loved him for that, instead of casting him contemptuous glares over the centuries-old silverware. But he had to go and sit down with all the other members of his family tonight, acting 'respectably' with whatever stuck-up pureblood they had invited over. Not that Sirius cared much about their opinions, but he knew that when his mother 'insisted' on something, that meant that she would show up here in the flesh if he didn't comply, resulting in a lot of shrieking – which in turn would lead to a headache – and a long, dragged-out argument. It just wasn't worth the effort.

His eyes hovered over to the bed where the brand new black and silver robes that Kreacher had delivered this morning – on his mistress' orders, of course – still lay untouched, then soared to the pile of clothes on one of the chairs, and the smirk returned to his lips. His mother said he had to go down and put on new clothes… but she never specified which ones. As James would say, that rule was open to interpretation.

-oOo-

As soon as Sirius entered the room, Regulus dropped his fork.

The elder Black was known for his rebellious attitude, but he had never displayed such blatant insolence before.

"Uncle Alphard," he said with a slight bow, barely containing his laughter at his family's faces. "Uncle Cygnus, Aunt Druella. Dear cousins." Counting the people sitting at the long dinner table, Sirius noticed that only Andromeda was missing, though her sisters, Narcissa and Bellatrix, were both there, despite Bellatrix being a Lestrange now. Rodolphus, Bellatrix's husband, was also present, sitting on her left and doing his best imitation of blinking through a sand storm.

"What… are you wearing?" Narcissa asked, her delicate nose scrunched up in distaste.

"My new leather jacket," Sirius replied with a grin, straightening up. Then he turned around to show the logo on the back, a falling angel with spread-out wings. "You like?"

"What's that symbol?" Uncle Alphard asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity.

"Led Zeppelin. They're my favourite Muggle rock band," Sirius replied, flashing him a one-hundred-carat smile. "Pretty far out, huh?" Without waiting for an answer, he approached the table and sat down next to his brother, on the chair that had obviously been left empty for him without even trying to hide the smirk at his mother's expression. Mrs. Black looked like she'd been forced to swallow a whole lemon, and had they not been surrounded by noble guests, her harpy shrieks would undoubtedly be shaking the walls right now.

"So... Regulus," Uncle Cygnus started stiffly, trying to move on from his nephew's scandalous attire. "How is school? As I understand it, you will be getting your O.W.L. results soon?"

Regulus nodded, but it was his mother that spoke. "Oh yes, we have great expectations. Sirius scored rather highly on his, despite his... questionable activities."

"I have told you a thousand times, Walburga, you really need to owl that teacher and have her exert more control," Uncle Cygnus continued, shooting his sister a look over the potatoes. "Look what has become of your son! Wearing Muggle clothes to dinner, getting detention every other day, conspiring with Mudbloods and blood traitors; if this continues, he's going to end up blasted off the tapestry!"

"As if I give a toss about the stupid tapestry," Sirius muttered into his peas, but the adults were too busy to pay him any mind.

"Everything went down hill when that hat put him in Gryffindor," Mr. Black said, matter-of-factly, cutting up his steak. "His whole academic future was sealed as soon as he donned the red and gold."

"Are you implying that great wizards cannot come from Gryffindor?" Uncle Alphard joined in. "And as you just heard, Sirius has kept up his grades. I don't see how his future is ruined by his house."

"It's his friends," came a quiet voice from Sirius' right, and he whipped his head in its direction so fast the juice in his goblet almost stained the pearly-white tablecloth. "They're filling his head with misguided ideas and Muggle sympathies," Regulus continued, voice full of contempt.

Sirius just stared at his brother with a mixture of surprise, hurt and anger, the last of which was quickly gaining dominance. "Leave them out of this," he growled, fingers tightening around the goblet.

"You're too lenient, Sister," Uncle Cygnus said, disregarding him again. "If he were _my_ son, I would have written Dumbledore directly and insisted that he be kept apart from Potter and the Mudbloods that drag him down to their level."

Sirius felt something hot and poisonous bubble at the pit of his stomach. "Don't talk about them like that," he said quietly, but was thoroughly ignored.

Mrs. Black shot her brother a cold glare. "Don't you think I've tried? That demented old Muggle-lover denied me!"

"Then take it up with the Board of Governors! The Ministry, if you have to!" Aunt Druella chimed in, finally looking up from her plate. "For Merlin's sake, Walburga, exercise some control!"

"Like you exercised control over Andromeda?" Mrs. Black shot back. Aunt Druella's face immediately turned white as a sheet; Bellatrix growled.

"I don't know of anyone by that name," Uncle Cygnus said calmly, returning to the very important task of cutting up his food. "But your boy is not a lost cause _yet_. What he needs—"

"Is a large dose of curse therapy," Bellatrix muttered.

"—is direction. He has proven himself both capable and intelligent," Uncle Cygnus continued, as if she hadn't said anything. "All he has to do is change the attitude and channel that towards a more noble goal."

"Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings," Aunt Druella pointed out, bringing a fork of mash up to her thin lips. "There are plenty of respectable wizards he could have chosen to spend his time with, but he chose the scum of the school."

"I said, DON'T TALK ABOUT THEM LIKE THAT!" Sirius exploded, surging to his feet.

His mother finally lost the tight grip on herself, yelling in return, "Then what should call them?! You've chosen to conspire with dirty half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth! If you had just been a normal child, you could have achieved greatness, brought honour to our house—"

"I don't want greatness!" Sirius shouted. "Has it ever occurred to you that there are more important things in life? That maybe I don't want to treat people like dirt just because of who their parents are? That blood has nothing to do with a person's magic?"

"H-how dare you—" Mrs. Black sputtered, eyes bugging out in anger.

"I know a Muggle-born without a drop of magical blood that is ten times the witch you are!" Sirius yelled, knocking down the fruit bowl. Rage was thumping in his ears, and the whole room was starting to gain a distinct red tint. "One of my best friends' mother is a Muggle, but he knows more spells than our entire year!"

"A half-breed!" Mrs. Black shrieked. "His father might as well have mated with a hippogriff!"

That was it. Before Sirius knew what he was doing, the wand was in his hand and a spell formed on his lips.

"_Incendio!_"

* * *

-oOo-

_CRACK!_

A big oak tree and part of a grey stone fence jumped out of the way of the purple triple-decker that appeared out of thin air and ground to a sudden halt, its blinding headlights illuminating the dark street. The door opened and Sirius staggered out of the bus, fighting the urge to spew what little he had tasted of dinner.

"'Ave a nice evening!" the pudgy conductor yelled from inside. The bus launched forward at full speed just as abruptly as it had stopped and disappeared once again with a loud crack, leaving only the wailing alarms of Muggle cars behind.

Sirius straightened up, turning to look at the Potter Mansion looming before him, and a cold, uncertain feeling slowly crept up his chest. What now? He hadn't really been thinking when he'd given the address to the teen aboard the Knight Bus – it was just the first place he could think of. But where could he go from here? '_Not back there_,' he thought bitterly, his hands balling into fists. '_I'm never going back._'

That path was blocked as far as he was concerned, and all he could do was move forward. So, with a deep breath of the heavy summer air, Sirius gathered his Gryffindor courage and walked up to the door, raising a fist to the lion-shaped knocker.

-oOo-

"And you really cursed her?" James laughed again, the sound reverberating through the empty Potter kitchen. "You're mad, mate! Completely mental! You could have set the whole place on fire!"

Sirius couldn't help but smirk slightly as he reached for another of Mrs. Potter's home-made biscuits, still cooling in a plate on the table. "It could all burn to the ground for all I care." He shrugged nonchalantly, biting into the treat. "The old hag was asking for it."

"I think you were itching for it," his bespectacled friend said, still chuckling, and took another sip of his tea. "Still can't believe you got away without a scratch. I don't imagine they'll be very happy when you come back."

Sirius' face grew dark. "I'm not going back."

James' hand froze mid-motion, and he slowly put the cup down. "What do you mean, 'you're not going back'?"

"Just what I said. I swore I'd never step foot in that hellhole again, and I meant it." Sirius' grey eyes locked with those of his best friend, his expression grim and determined. "You don't know what it's like, Prongs. When you leave Hogwarts, you get to come home to biscuits and tea, and I'm greeted with glares and disdain. Everywhere I look I see the Dark Arts, every cousin or family member I speak to can't wait to sing the praises of that loony that keeps making the first page of the _Daily Prophet_ with his atrocities, every day I get a reminder of how I should act and what company I should keep! Well, I'm sick of it!"

Sirius' voice grew more and more passionate as he spoke, and the biscuit crumbled to bits in the palm of his hand. "I never asked to be a Black, to be the eldest, to be the heir! Screw them and their arrogant, self-important attitude; screw their stupid motto they keep parroting off like it's a bloody prayer, and screw their rubbish pureblood mania! I'm not like them!"

His fist banged loudly on the wooden table, startling James almost out of his seat. Sirius kept staring unseeingly in front of him, panting heavily. The rage that had flared inside him was almost blinding, and for a minute or so all he could hear was the deafening pounding of his own heart.

"I know you're not."

Trying to control his rage, Sirius looked to his friend.

"I have always known who you really are," James continued, eyeing him calmly, "and that's why you're my best friend." He reached forward and clapped Sirius on the shoulder. "You were born a Black, so what? It's how you act that matters, not how far back you can trace your family tree. Moony is a werewolf, but he's never ripped out our throats in our sleep, just like you've never lifted your wand against a Muggle-born for the crime of not having wizard parents." His so-far serious expression morphed into a slight grin. "There's plenty of better reasons to hex people. Remember Oliver Rickett?"

Almost against his will, Sirius felt his bad mood dissipate like the smoke of a forgotten cigarette and barked a laugh. "I couldn't just let him get away with it! That snitch still told Slughorn that Wormy copied his homework, _after_ he got well compensated for it! All those Chocolate Frogs – wasted!"

"Well he couldn't very well unwrap them with those cloven hooves for hands, could he?" James snickered, getting up. "Come on. You can have the guest bedroom for tonight; I'll see what my folks can do about getting your stuff from your parents tomorrow. Probably won't go too well, considering how you left." He shook with silent laughter again. "Once we put up the bikes on the walls again, it'll be more or less the same."

"You mean… you want me to stay here?" Sirius asked in bewilderment.

James shot him a look like he wasn't sure he was right in the head. "Of course you're staying here. Unless you want to share a room with Wormtail at his mum's tiny flat? Got to admit though, Mrs. Pettigrew makes some mean waffles."

"I—I… uh…" Sirius didn't know what to say. His throat felt tight all of a sudden.

"You're welcome." James grinned, pouring what was left of his tea in the sink. "Now let's go, before your loud cries of gratitude wake up the neighbours."


	18. Rolf Scamander and the Umgubular

QL Round 7

**Caerphilly Catapults **

Chaser 3

**Prompts:**  
2\. (quote) 'Just have a little faith.' - Michael Scofield, _Prison Break  
_12\. (word) mist  
14\. (dialogue) "This isn't safe… or legal for that matter."

**Word count**: 2,660

* * *

**Rolf Scamander and the Umgubular Slashkilter**

-O-

The creature tilted its head slightly as it grazed, giving the young wizard a better view of its fangs. Rolf wondered what use they served to a herbivore, but his pencil made a soft curve over the parchment, detailing the area around the drawing's mouth, adding his thoughts in cursive in the corner of the page.

Footsteps crunched in the dry grass, alerting the Peryton of the wizard's presence. Its head shot up, and the winged deer sprinted between the trees, fleeing danger faster than a speeding bullet. Rolf sighed in disappointment but closed his notebook, leaving the sketch unfinished.

"There you are!" a chipper voice sounded behind him. "The new girl is arriving today, Hotchkiss wants us all to be there and give her a warm welcome! Get your stuff and let's go." Another sigh escaped the young magizoologist before he could stop himself. _Herbologists_, he scoffed internally. It wasn't that Cameron, the cheerful member of his team and the owner of the loud footsteps that had startled the Peryton, was a bad guy, not at all. He was actually really friendly, but people like him were used to dealing with plants, not animals, and, for him specifically, 'stealth' seemed to be a foreign concept. As was 'being quiet', for that matter.

"Coming," Rolf said, gathering his things. It was useless to tell his colleague to approach him with care when around wild creatures, especially if he was holding an open notebook, for the millionth time this month. The words only seemed to stick around Cameron's head for about three minutes.

The camp wasn't too far away, and after only a short ten-minute walk, the two wizards were within earshot of their leader's shrill voice.

"Gather around, everyone! Gather round!" Professor Hotchkiss said loudly, waving her hands, "And say hello to the newest addition to our team — Miss Luna Lovegood!" Mild applause echoed between the tents as the blonde girl standing next to Professor Hotchkiss waved to the expedition crew. "Miss Lovegood will be joining us for the remainder of our journey, replacing poor Abigail. Let us all make sure the same fate does not befall her and keep from provoking unidentified monkey-like species by offering them chocolate!"

A few snickers echoed about. Rolf ignored them and took in the new girl. While she wore the standard khaki expedition clothes the rest of the crew did in order to blend in with the environment, there were certain embellishments one could not fail to notice. An odd necklace around her neck. Strange earrings made from, if he was not mistaken, dirigible plums. A bright orange flower tucked in the base of her ponytail, emitting a strong smell reminiscent of rotting eggs.

"That girl seems a bit loony, doesn't she," Cameron whispered in his ear, and Rolf couldn't help but agree.

"Why is her wand tucked behind her ear?" he whispered back. His friend merely shrugged.

* * *

-O-

Rolf didn't know if he preferred sweating in jungles or freezing in icy tundras, but every time he found himself in one, he always wished he was in the other. This time was no exception.

The night was so excruciatingly warm, it was just impossible to fall asleep. You'd think that after three weeks in that suffocating tent he'd be used to it, but no. He needed air.

Flipping the tarpaulin of the tent to the side, the young magizoologist stepped outside, almost groaning in pleasure when a cool breeze gently brushed his face. Taking in a deep breath and stretching up, Rolf looked up to the bright dots scattered across the velvet sky. True, when it was raining it sort of ruined the experience, but sometimes there was nothing better than sleeping outside, gazing up at them as you slowly fall asleep. It was partly why he disliked large cities — the smog formed a mist so thick it made it possible to only see about half the stars. Most people were okay with it, but that was because they didn't know what they were missing. They could be looking up at the sky all night and never actually see it.

"Lumos."

The whisper startled Rolf, bringing him abruptly back down to Earth. He looked around, immediately spotting the tip of an ignited wand leaving the camp. Throwing a quick look to Professor Hotchkiss' tent, Rolf decided that catching up to the person was more important than warning the expedition leader and dove back into the tent for his own wand. It was extremely dangerous to wander about outside the camp at night, and whoever the mysterious adventurer was, they were probably going to get themselves into a heap of trouble.

Swinging his bag over one shoulder, wand clutched tightly in his fist, Rolf scrambled outside once more and took off after the quickly distancing dot of light.

Following without really looking where he was going was not the brightest idea he'd ever had, but Rolf feared that a mere glance at his feet might cause him to lose his colleague in the darkness so he pressed on, constantly tripping and catching on local vegetation. A strange squawking sound echoed in the night, making the dot freeze in place. Then the light went out.

"Wait!" Rolf hissed, sprinting forward without thinking. A bad decision in general, especially for a lanky person like him, and within seconds he found himself flat on his face, the wand rolling away as he hit the hard ground with a grunt. A foot stepped over it to stop its getaway, and a hand reached down to take it.

"Nox," the person whispered, submerging them in darkness. Soft footsteps padded to his right, and a pair of hands pulled him up to a sitting position. "Be quiet," the figure whispered in his ear. "I think that was the call of an Umgubular Slashkilter." The smell of rotten eggs hit him like a battering ram.

"You're that new girl," he whispered back. "Luna."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said, and he felt her hand take his and shake it up and down in the darkness. "Are you here to catch it too?"

"There are no such things as Umgubular—" Rolf started, but the strange call echoed in the woods once more.

"It's getting away!" Luna said under her breath, and before he knew what was happening, she was dragging him along, running after the source of the sound.

After a few minutes of blindly chasing a pipe-dream through dangerous beast-filled woods, she finally slowed down and abruptly pulled him down, hunching behind what seemed to be a big fallen log.

"I think we found its lair!" Luna said in a muted voice, barely containing her excitement.

Rolf couldn't help a scowl as he rubbed his right elbow, which had grazed painfully against the rough bark. "Listen, I don't know what you're trying to catch, but my family has been studying magical creatures for generations, and—"

Luna clapped a hand over his mouth, effectively shutting him up with a hush, listening intently. The squawking repeated, and this time he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Shifting about as quietly as he could, Rolf manoeuvred himself into a better spying position and watched as something fluttered from the treetops, whooshed elegantly through the air, then disappeared into the ground.

"Come on," Luna said, standing up carefully.

At first, Rolf just watched her creep closer and closer. Then, before he had fully realised he was moving, his legs followed, almost of their own accord. He didn't know why he did it. He did not believe in Umgubular Slashkreamers or whatever, that was for sure, but he could not deny that they were on the tracks of _something_, and that something could be dangerous. This new girl was going to get herself mauled, just like Abigail.

Suddenly, Luna stopped in her tracks, and her wand was in her hand again, illuminating the night. Rolf drew closer, finally seeing what gave her pause — a wide, dark entrance to an abandoned mining shaft, gaping at her feet.

His eyes darted to Luna, and he instantly knew what she was thinking. "This isn't safe… or legal for that matter," Rolf said. "You can get yourself killed."

She just turned to him and gave him a smile. "Have a little faith."

Then, without so much as a warning, Luna jumped into the darkness.

Rolf's body froze in shock. _This girl is crazy!_ Falling to his knees, he gripped the edge of the hole and stared down, too afraid to call out her name and draw the attention of whatever was down there. A flash of light briefly illuminated the dark space as he saw her perform a Cushioning Charm, landing safely what seemed like about a kilometre below, then curiously inspecting the walls. A sigh of relief escaped him, and his head whipped back in the direction of the campsite. Well, if it was too late to go tell someone about this when she was leaving camp, it was certainly too late now.

Taking a deep breath, Rolf swung his feet into the hole and jumped after her.

"Careful not to step on those bones," Luna said nonchalantly as he landed behind her, not even half as gracefully — or soundlessly — as she had. He looked down at his feet in panic, but relaxed somewhat when he found that the bones she was referring to seemed like they belonged to small mammals. 'Somewhat' being the key word here.

"Luna, this isn't safe," he whispered urgently. "We should get out of here."

"It seems solid enough," she said, still examining the wall of the shaft, her free hand testing the stone. "I'd say it's been here since the forties, maybe fifties. I wonder what they were mining all the way out here."

"That's not what I meant," Rolf mumbled under his breath, but once again, Luna was taking off down the creepy old tunnel, and all he could do was gather his remaining wits and follow. This was starting to become a habit, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"So how long have you been interested in Magizoology?" Luna asked conversationally, as if they weren't navigating a pitch-black, so-old-it-could-collapse-on-them, possibly filled with dangerous creatures mining tunnel.

"Ah… ever since I was little," Rolf said, just going along with all the insanity.

"It's not a recent thing with me either," she continued casually. "I wanted to go into journalism, initially; I found it to be rather dull, though. It's more fun trying to capture Nargles on camera than it is interviewing people about the Ministry's secret Chimera Conspiracy. Plus, you get to visit all of theses exotic locations and everything; London was beginning to feel a bit suffocating. Too many people."

"I know what you mean," he said without thinking. "The city is definitely not a place for me. Luckily, my parents travelled around a lot, so—" Rolf's eyes wandered to the ground, and he stopped abruptly, extending his hand in front of Luna. "Wait." He inclined his head down. "Blood."

The vivid red spots stood out against the faded brown of the mine floor, still fresh and bright. Rolf knelt down to take a better look. Suddenly, the squawking sound echoed in the tunnel, a million times louder than it had been before. Rolf and Luna exchanged glances and lifted their wands at the ready. Proceeding with caution, the young wizard felt his stomach twist into knots the closer they got to the creature. Was it possible? Were they about to discover a new species? His palms became sweaty with excitement, forcing him to grip the wand tighter.

One more turn. The sounds were nearly on top of them now…

The two wands illuminated the end of the shaft, where a cave-in cut off the rest of the tunnel. And there, at the very end, was a nest made of large three branches, shiny stones and jewels glistening between the leaves. Pieces of pecked rocks were scattered in the vicinity, some shining with the cold grey of silver, some with the dull glimmer of gold. A large, yellow bird lay in the nest, its bloodied wing dripping scarlet onto the ground. Its weary eyes followed the magizoologists' every move, ready to attack at the slightest provocation.

"An Alicanto..." Rolf whispered in awe. "I thought they were extinct!" His hand reached for the bag at his hip, itching to get out his pencil and draw it, but he changed his mind almost instantly. The bird was injured, and the first thing he needed to take care of was its wound.

Slowly raising his wand, the young wizard whispered a sleeping spell, trying to calm the creature. The bird blinked tiredly. Once. Twice. He stopped, waiting for the charm to take full effect, then, as soon as he was sure he wouldn't get his eyes pecked out, he approached cautiously. The Alicanto breathed heavily, the wound obviously taking a toll, even in its sleep. Rolf took its wing in one hand, taking extreme care not to hurt it further, and waved his wand over what seemed to be bite marks, muttering an incantation.

"You would have made a great Hufflepuff," Luna said over his shoulder, watching him work. "Was it fun being home schooled? I've never met anyone who is."

His eyes darted to her. "Why do you think I was home schooled?" He hadn't mentioned that, had he?

"You didn't go to Hogwarts," she replied simply.

"How do you know?"

"I would have remembered you."

He scoffed. "You can't possibly know every person in Hogwarts. I'm a good few years older than you."

Luna shook her head. "I don't have to know everyone, but I would have known you. You would have joined us."

"Us?" he echoed, distracted once more with the task at hand.

"Us. Dumbledore's Army," she clarified, making him look up sharply.

"You fought in the War?" Even someone as isolated from current events as him knew what was happening five years ago. Knew of the terror, the panic. The deaths. Harry Potter's part in it, the Battle of Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix; those were all part of history now.

"Oh yes. It… wasn't a very pleasant time for me," she said, and for the very first time, he heard something like melancholy enter her voice. It made him feel restless somehow, wanting to make her cheerful again.

"You don't have to tell me," he said hastily. "Forget I asked." Then, in order to change the subject, he added, "I'm sorry this wasn't an Umgubular Slashkranker. I'm sure you'll get it next time." Immediately, Rolf wanted to palm his face. Why did he say that? Those things didn't exist! But when he cast a quick glance at Luna, he couldn't bring himself to take it back.

"Thank you," she said, smiling softly at him. When her attention moved to the bird, the shadow that seemed to have fallen over her eyes cleared, and she shrugged lightly. "It happens sometimes. The Umgubular Slashkilter is a very shy creature, you know. It's not unheard of for people to mistake it for something else." Then her eyes turned to the ceiling, and when she spoke that spark returned to her voice. "But I _will_ find it someday. You'll see."

Rolf just stared at her for a second, taken aback by her confidence. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he looked back down at the injured bird.

This girl really was a bit loony. But why should that be a bad thing?


	19. Undercover

**Written for the Quidditch League, Chaser 3 for the ****Caerphilly Catapults, round 8.**

**Task: **Write about what happens to the Ministry in the event that Voldemort wins.

**Prompts**:

6\. (creature) centaur  
9\. (song) 'Everytime We Touch' by Cascada  
14\. (song) 'You Are In Love' by Taylor Swift

**Word count**: 1,564

* * *

_**Undercover**_

-O-

Dorcas stared despairingly at the proposal on her desk. This was madness! Insanity! She couldn't put it forward; it would be a crime in on itself! Centaurs were intelligent creatures with their own culture and society; they were sentient! How could she in good conscience propose a law making it legal to hunt them like animals? How would it be any different than Muggle hunting? It was immoral, twisted, depraved! Yet, what could she do? Evan knew about this proposal, he had come up with the idea for it, in fact. If she didn't present it on the meeting today he'd know something was up, and that could lead into an investigation and end up blowing her cover.

Maybe, a small voice whispered in her ear, Minchum would veto it. Maybe she could put it forward and hope that the Ministry just wouldn't let it pass? A dark chuckle escaped her the second the thought entered her head. The Minister for Magic having any say in the goings on at the Ministry—what a joke. The only thing that buffoon was good for was to keep up the illusion that the damn place still had some semblance of autonomy, but anyone actually working at the Ministry knew who really pulled the strings.

_Knock knock knock._

Dorcas looked up, only to see her boyfriend leaning against the door frame.

"You ready for the meeting?" Evan said, taking a step inside.

"Just about," Dorcas replied quickly, shoving the proposal in a parchment folder.

"You don't have to be nervous." Evan drew closer, smiling slightly at her. "The Dark Lord knows you are loyal. They'll pass it."

Dorcas returned the smile and stood up, trying to resist the sudden urge to scratch the tattoo on her forearm. "I'm not nervous. Let's go."

* * *

-oOo-

Much later, when Dorcas arrived in the Order HQ and unceremoniously burst into the house, the first thing she said was, "It passed."

The members of the Order of the Phoenix scattered around Moody's living room turned to look at her, their faces a mixture of surprise and dark acceptance. Gideon cursed under his breath.

Mad-Eye was the first to speak. "Well, if we had any doubts about it before, it's confirmed now. Minchum was completely lost control of the Ministry."

Fabian scoffed. "Doubts? Was someone here doubting it? Last month they made Acromantula Eggs, Manticore Venom and Werewolf Claws legal tradable goods! The import laws are becoming beyond ridiculous, and the Chief of the Department can't do a thing about it!"

Frank nodded. "The Aurors feel it as well. Instead of chasing suspected Death Eaters, we're being handed 'criminal cases', 90% of which are Muggle-borns that have no idea what the charges against them are. This wool they're trying to pull over everyone's eyes is more transparent than a Demiguise."

"There must be something we can do about this," Edgar piped up. "We can't just leave the Ministry as Voldemort's puppet forever!"

"And what do you propose, Bones?" Moody growled. "Should we storm the Atrium and fire hexes at anyone in sight? Corruption isn't something you can point a wand at."

"The only way to get the Ministry back is to defeat him," Elphias added, nodding wisely.

"We don't have time for this!" James interrupted, surging to his feet. "There'll be time for political debates later; right now what we need to do is warn the centaur tribes. It won't be long before someone takes advantage of this new law and takes a hunting party to the nearest forest."

"You speak as if centaurs are easy to hunt," Caradoc drawled with a roll of his eyes. "They'll be just fine."

James whirled on him. "Are you out of your mind?! We can't just sit here while they're being hunted for sport!"

"Dragons are hard to hunt too, Dearborn," Sirius added lazily from his armchair. "Do you see many of them around? Do you remember why that is, or did your streak of Ts extend to History of Magic as well?"

Caradoc's face turned red, but Remus, ever the peacemaker, stood up with his hands up in a pacifying gesture. "Even if centaurs are able to defend themselves, we should still warn them. At the very least they'll be ready for an ambush, when it comes."

"Potter's right," Moody said. "Enough petty squabbles. We'll go to the biggest known tribes tonight, give them a heads up. The Potters will take Thetford Forest; The Longbottoms—Forest of Mercia; Lupin and Pettigrew—Kinver Forest; Dearborn and Dogde—Delamere Forest; the Prewetts—Whiteleaf Hill; McKinnon and Podmore—Heartwood Forest; Black and Meadowes—Winterfold Forest. I'll take Dung to Backmuir Wood. Everybody got that?"

Murmurs of agreement accompanied the screeching of chair legs against the wooden floor as the pairs found each other and headed to the door, ready to Apparate to their location. Dorcas and Sirius shared a charged glance. They hadn't really had the chance to talk since Dumbledore revealed her true mission to the Order.

He stood, breaking the eye contact, and Dorcas walked out with the others. Looking up at the night sky, she waited.

Sirius stopped next to her; she didn't need to look to know it was him. It had been so long, but she still remembered... Pieces of a forgotten life swirled in her head, images of something that was not meant to be. Kisses on London sidewalks. Buttons of a coat coming undone. Light reflecting off a chain as he puts it around her neck. A steaming cup of coffee she places in his hand when she finds him on the steps of her apartment building at midnight.

One by one, the other couples disappeared, until the two of them were the last ones left standing in Moody's backyard.

"Shall we?" he said quietly, offering his hand.

Dorcas finally looked at him, then down at his hand, apprehensive, almost afraid to take it. It had been more than three years since the last time she'd been this close to him.

"Yes," she said in the same muted voice, slipping her palm in his.

The second they touched, she got that feeling again. Her heart beat fast, static cackled between them, and all those memories, those unspoken wishes and regrets, it all rushed back. Her eyes met his, and she wondered if he could hear the deafening thumping of her heart, if he could still hear her voice in his dreams and still remember at night what it was like to kiss her.

They looked at each other for a second lasting a century, but when Apparition whisked them away from the dark street and to the gloomy woods, the moment was suddenly over. His hand left hers, and Dorcas felt an odd sense of loss as she realised... that she wanted it to last.

"If we make enough noise, they'll come to us," she said, trying to distance herself from that moment of weakness and quickly taking a few steps forward. This was hard enough to let go of the first time.

Sirius, however, didn't seem to share the sentiment. "Why didn't you tell me?" he said, grabbing her hand.

She kept facing forward. "You didn't need to know."

"Didn't need to know?!" he exploded, his grip tightening slightly. "I didn't need to know you hadn't betrayed us? I didn't need to know you had no choice?"

"I did have a choice!" Dorcas turned around, finally facing him. "I could have said no. I could have told Dumbledore to find another spy, but I didn't, and you _know_ why. It's easier for a Slytherin to go undercover; they constantly filled the common room with propaganda and threats. It wasn't that hard to make them think they got to me. Who else was going to do it? You?"

"I'm a Black!" he objected heatedly. "I could have said I've seen the error of my ways!"

Dorcas scoffed. "Please. No one would be stupid enough to believe it, not after what you did when you ran away."

"Don't try to change the subject! This is about you not telling us what you were really up to! Why was Dumbledore the only one allowed to know for so long? Why did we have to think of you as a Death Eater?"

"Firstly, I am a Death Eater," she said flatly, raising her hand until the sleeve fell down and revealed the snake-and-skull tattoo. "And secondly, because I knew this exact thing would happen! You would have never let me do it, or you would have hesitated to hex me out there, or you would have run your mouth and given me away. It was just safer—for _everyone_—if you knew nothing."

Silence fell on them like a heavy blanket. He still refused to let go of her wrist, and she refused to be the first one to look away.

"And him?" Sirius asked. "Was Rosier just part of the ploy?"

"... That doesn't concern you," Dorcas replied stubbornly.

"Like hell it doesn't!"

One step to shorten the distance. One look in the darkness. Not much, but it said enough.

"Don't," she whispered, though there was no fight left in her. "Don't cross that line."

His hand rose to caress her face. "Why?"

"Because there's no going back if you do."

"Who says I want to go back?"

Lips crashed, and the world ended.


	20. A Taste of the Muggle World

Written for the Quidditch League, Caerphilly Catapults Chaser 3

Task: Write a story inspired by Lady and the Tramp

Prompts: clandestine, tea leaves, 'Okay is wonderful'

Word count: 2924 (according to googledocs)

* * *

**A Taste of the Muggle World**

The kettle whistled loudly from the hotplate.

"Pass me the tea leaves?" Mrs. Fitzherbert said to her husband, removing it to pour hot water in the three cups waiting on the table.

"What is it with you and tea leaves?" Mr. Fitzherbert placed the cardboard box next to the cups. "Can't we just use regular tea bags?"

"It's a magic thing," his wife replied evasively.

Feet thumped quickly down the stairs as their son, Curran—or Curly, as he was known to his friends—barrelled into the kitchen.

"Just in time for breakfast," Mrs. Fitzherbert said, smiling brightly and offering him one of the cups.

"No time, Mom," Curly replied. "I'm gonna be late and Rose will kill me." He reached for the cup and took a swig, only to shove it back into his mother's hands. "Hot, hot, hot, hot! Mom, are you trying to kill me?!"

Mr. Fitzherbert laughed behind his paper. "Yes, honey, you don't want him to die before going on his very first _date_ with Rose, do you?"

"I told you before, Dad, it's not a date," Curly said, reaching for the back door. "We're just friends."

"Riiiiight. Have fun on your 'friend' date, then." Mr. Fitzherbert lowered the paper to smirk at his son. "Your hair looks different today. Did you try to style it?"

Curly didn't dignify that with a response, but his face did flush suspiciously as he flung the door open and ran out.

~oOo~

Rose waited patiently by the blinking amusement park sign where Curly had told her to meet him. It took a bit of convincing for Rogers, her private tutor, to let her do this without supervision, as she wouldn't be able to use magic outside of school for a few more weeks. But Curly had his birthday in February, so she made the argument that she would, technically, be with an adult (though that would probably be the last word she would choose to describe him).

He was right on time.

"Hi, Rose. You ready for a taste of the Muggle world?" Curly said, greeting her with a wide smile.

She nodded and slowly spun around so he could get a good look of the dress she was wearing.

"What do you think? Did I do this right? I've never worn Muggle clothes before."

He smiled warmly. "It's very pretty. Pink really suits you." Rose beamed at him, and he inclined his head towards the gate. "Shall we?"

She gave him another excited nod, and the two of them entered the park.

"Wait…" he said, glancing at her as they walked, "If you don't have any other Muggle clothes… then what were you wearing when you bought this?"

"My robes," Rose replied simply, a bit confused by the question. "The woman at the register was really nice; she even offered to call someone for me in case I was lost. I told her that she would have to yell very loudly if she wanted to be heard, because Rogers was waiting for me way down the street."

At this point, Curly made a strange choking sound, then coughed a few times.

"Are you okay?" she asked with concern.

"Yeah, fine," he said, quickly. "Er, let's go on rides!" he exclaimed suddenly, pulling her through the crowd. "That's what we're here for, right? Right. This way!"

ooo

After a few hours, darkness slowly enveloped the park like a blanket, but the different lights and sounds made it feel nothing like night. Everyone around them seemed to be having fun, but a crowd this big unnerved her, and she walked as closely to Curly as she could.

Suddenly, he stopped walking, and she almost bumped into him. He turned to face her, eyes shining with excitement. "Ever been to an arcade?"

She stared at him blankly.

"Oh man, then you've never lived!" he exclaimed, grabbing her wrist and pulling her through the sea of people to a flashy building, shining with a million different lights.

Rose had no idea what they were doing here, but allowed him to drag her along to buy tokens and approach a tall, odd-looking yellow box.

"This is an arcade game," he explained, putting a token in the slot.

The square in the middle of the box came to life, and she watched curiously as Curly played for a bit, explaining the rules and mechanics of the game. He let her try it, but as it turned out, Rose was pretty bad at it.

"Is there a place I can buy a drink from?" she asked, letting him take over again.

"Yeah, sure." Curly reached into his pocket and gave her a piece of paper. "Get whatever you want and give this to the guy. It's Muggle money."

Rose inspected the currency, but before she could ask more questions about it, the game started beeping again, effectively absorbing Curly's attention.

Not knowing what most of the Muggle drinks were, she chose an item at random when she reached the food court.

"Hey, not to pry or anything, but are you here with Fitz?" asked the teen handling register.

"With who?" Rose asked, confused, and he nodded to the machine Curly was playing at. It dawned on her that 'Fitz' was short for Fitzherbert. "Oh, you mean him? Yes, he brought me here."

"For real? I didn't know he was back from his fancy boarding school yet," came another voice from behind her, and she turned to face a small group of teens. "Hey, Greg," the boy who had spoken said, bumping his fist to the food court guy's. Then he turned to Rose. "So, you Fitz's girlfriend or something?"

"No," Rose replied. "We are friends, though."

"Well, any friend of Fitz's is a friend of ours!" the boy said. "I'm Reggie." He offered his hand, and Rose shook it hesitantly. "Listen, we were just about to head out to The Hub. Why don't you come with us?"

"What is that?" Rose asked.

Reggie shrugged nonchalantly. "It's a place my family owns. It's technically for over twenty-ones, but I've got a clandestine way in." He winked. "You interested?"

"Erm… I don't know..." Rose said, looking over Reggie's shoulder at Curly, who still seemed absorbed in the game.

"He's playing Pac Man again?" said an older girl with long, blonde hair, following Rose's gaze. "Ah, let him finish it, he loves that game. Greg, tell him where we are, will you?"

Greg grinned. "Sure thing, Peg."

Rose didn't know what to do. Was this a normal Muggle thing? Would she get in trouble if she resisted?

"Come on, pigeon," the girl named Peg said, smiling warmly. "I promise I won't let these hounds harass you."

The teens laughed. Seeing little choice in the matter, Rose went along when they filed out of the arcade.

ooo

'The Hub' turned out to be a Muggle dance club. There were neon colors everywhere, the music was loud and thumping, the lights—bright and throbbing. Reggie and the others settled down in a booth, which made hearing each other easier.

"What will it be?" a pretty waitress asked when they were all seated.

"Erm..." Rose looked around hesitantly.

Peg giggled next to her. "We'll have two cherry Budweisers, Claire." Then she leaned back into the seat and turned to Rose. "So, how'd you meet Fitz?"

"At school," Rose replied vaguely.

Peg chuckled. "He didn't prank you, did he?"

"Erm… not me, no. He was throwing water balloons at people from high above. I walked in on him, and he was so startled he almost fell out the window. I helped him get rid of the balloons and… we've been friends ever since." Rose said, absentmindedly accepting the bottle she was being handed by the waitress. "What is this?"

"Beer," Peg replied, popping the cap on hers, then assisting with Rose's. "Classic Fitz. Bet your friends all love him too, don't they."

Rose didn't know what beer was, but everyone else was drinking it. She inspected the contents as best she could—it kind of looked like coloured Gillywater—then raised it to her lips."Well, actually… he was the very first friend I've ever made," she replied. "I'd never really thought about friends as being all that important before. I had my books and my responsibilities; I didn't need pointless distractions." Rose looked at her reflection in the bottle, her face growing serious. "But he's different. He's just so… kind. And open. I still don't know why he hangs around me at all, but I'm glad for it."

"Oh, honey." Peg put a sisterly hand on Rose's shoulder. "It's written all over your face, but listen, I don't want you to get your hopes up too high. Take it from someone who's been there—he's like that with everyone."

Rose stared at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Peg smiled sympathetically. "The simple truth of it is that Fitz loooves being a White Knight. He sees a person struggling and immediately offers them a hand, tries to fix things, fix _them_. It's just how he is. I know it's easy to think that you're special to him, but you aren't his first pet project." She raised the beer to her lips, took a sip, then chuckled softly. "Ah, but he's so dense. Breaks a new heart every day, and doesn't even notice. He means well, but it makes people, girls especially, feel like there's more to it than there really is. You must've noticed it yourself by now, seen the looks he gets. Hell, even I have got it pretty bad. But do yourself a favour, pigeon—don't take it to heart. He'll find another person to help soon enough."

Rose remained silent, staring unseeingly at the foaming surface of her drink. Her fingers tightened slightly around the cold glass.

-oOo-

Leaning on his knees to catch his breath, Curly stopped right under the big neon sign of The Hub. He'd only taken his eyes off Rose for one minute! How could he have lost her? Chest heavy with guilt and worry, he approached the bouncer and made to speak, but the guy just waved him through.

"Hiya, Fitz. Reggie said you'd be coming by. They're all waiting for you in there."

Mumbling a thank you, Curly rushed inside, his sight and hearing instantly assaulted by the loud music and throbbing lights. It didn't take him long to spot the others—they always sat in the same VIP booth. Making his way there through the sea of dancing bodies, the young wizard found Rose surrounded by his old schoolmates.

"Fitz!" a few people exclaimed when they saw him.

"Hey there, stranger!" Reggie said, offering him a beer. "Sit down, have a drink!"

"No thanks, Reggie," Curly said, fixing his eyes on Rose. "I'd love to catch up, but now's not really a good time."

An arm snaked around his neck, and he almost jumped. A girl he vaguely remembered from his old school—Trixie or something—was hugging him. "Come on, Fitz! We haven't seen you in forever!"

"Sorry, can't," he said, removing the arm. "Let's go, Rose."

Rose was frowning. "I don't want to leave," she said. "I like it here."

Curly raised an eyebrow. "Says the girl whose favorite pastime is _reading_." He reached for her wrist.

Rose wrenched away from him, surging to her feet. "Don't tell me what to do! I don't need you to look out for me, and protect me, and fix me! Go find your next project!"

For a moment, Curly was completely stumped—he'd never seen Rose act like this. His gaze moved to the bottle in her hand, then to the assortment of empty ones on the table, and his eyes narrowed. _They gave her alcohol?!_

Trying to keep his focus on what was important, he simply set his jaw and said, "Rose, this isn't like you. We have to get you out of here, for your own good."

"You heard the lady, mate," a voice rumbled behind him. "She wants to stay."

He turned around slowly, coming face to face with three tall, burly men in their early twenties who he only knew in passing, but had seen enough of to know what was going to follow.

"Listen," he said, raising his palms in a pacifying gesture. "I'm not looking for a fight. I just want to take my friend and leave."

A rough fist caught the front of Curly's t-shirt, and he could smell the alcohol on the other man's breath as he said, "Then why are you causing such a racket?"

"Hey!" came Rose's shout from behind. "Let go of him, you Muggle!"

Curly's head snapped back, and he nearly groaned, seeing Rose brandish her wand. One spell and she could be expelled from Hogwarts!

"What did you call me?" The guy let go of Curly, his hand reaching down his pocket, where the edge of a thin piece of wood peeked out of his jeans.

_Uh-oh_.

Not waiting to see what spell he would use, Curly drew his own wand and aimed a Reductor curse at the lights overhead. There was a crackling explosion, and the club was plunged in darkness. People stomped about; shouts rang through the air as confusion and panic quickly spread. Curly grabbed Rose's hand and pulled her through the crowd, adding to the startled shrieks of the patrons. Running past the bouncer at the door, they didn't stop to answer his shouted questions, bolting down the dark street.

It took about ten minutes of a mad dash, but Curly managed to get them to a quiet park. They nearly collapsed on the first bench in sight, panting heavily.

"Sorry I had to drag you out of there," he said when he could breathe freely again.

"It's okay," Rose replied. After a moment, she added, "I'm sorry I said those things to you at the club. I don't know what came over me."

Curly leaned back against the bench. "It's fine." He looked to Rose. "What did they tell you?"

She sighed. "Nothing I didn't already know."

He turned to face her fully, elbow resting on the bench's back. "I'm gonna need more than that."

Rose gathered her hands in her lap. "They said you like to help people. That I'm not your first project. That I shouldn't take it personally when you move on to the next person."

The last bit irritated him for some reason. "You are not my 'project'. Is that why you said I wanted to fix you? Rose, you know it's not like that, don't you?"

Rose smiled slightly, glancing at him. "It's alright, I don't mind being your project. It's better than not knowing you at all."

Curly was not happy with that answer. "Look, I… it might have started with me wanting to help you out, but it's different now. I don't hang out with you because I want someone to fix. I _like_ being around you. I like being your friend. It's true that I'm friendly with everyone, but the people I actually call 'friends' can be counted on my fingers, and you _are_ on that short list. I know there's nothing I can do to prove those aren't just words, but I guess you'll just have to… trust me."

Something changed behind her eyes. Rose looked at him, and he knew he had done something right.

"I do trust you," she said simply.

And that was enough.

The tension in the air eased, and they both turned forward again, sitting in silence for a minute.

"Curly?"

"Yeah?"

"What is Budweiser?"

"Uh… it's a brand of beer."

"Yes, but what is beer?"

"It's Muggle alcohol."

"Oh…" There was a small pause. "I think I might be a little drunk, then."

"Yeah, I kinda figured." He gave her a sideways glance. She looked a bit dizzy. "Come on," Curly said, getting ready to stand. "I'll take you home."

"Actually… can we stay for a minute? I don't think Apparition would be… good for my stomach at the moment."

"... Sure."

Silence settled over them as they just sat next to each other on the bench. Cars whizzed by occasionally, illuminating the scene for a few seconds at a time. The summer breeze rustled gently in the leaves above them. Rose leaned on him; Curly glanced down at her, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"My head is spinning," she said.

"Alcohol does that."

The air in the park was pleasantly warm. Some sort of sweet, flowery scent lingered in it, but Curly couldn't tell where exactly it was coming from. Her blonde locks moved slightly with the wind.

"Thank you for showing me the Muggle world today," Rose piped up again. "I had fun."

He huffed a laugh. "Did you?"

"With you around, I think I'd have fun in the Sahara Desert."

Curly shook with silent laughter again, leaning his cheek on her head. "Really? I'm off to buy a camel for our next trip, then. I've always wanted to ride one."

Rose chuckled too, then went silent for a bit.

"I don't know how to explain it, exactly," she said quietly. "I just sort of feel like... no matter what happens or where I am, if you're there, everything will be okay."

"Is okay… good?"

Her arms coiled around his waist. "Okay is wonderful."

* * *

I had to butcher this fic beyond belief to fit it within the word count, so if anyone wants to read an expanded version with a couple more scenes, you can now do so on my profile, the one-shot title is the same. Rose and Curly are OCs that are sort of crossing over from my Fairy Tale fic, _**The Swan Princess**_, and Curly is the creation of Gally (Gallonsof the Stuff). So this is sort of a fanfiction of a fanfiction. Fanfiception! XD


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